


now you know me, and i'm not afraid

by TheRangress



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Autistic Kaladin, M/M, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, femslash with Laral, ie: I started writing this over two years ago, periodic ableism, seriously a REALLY slow burn, some Kholins, some bridgemen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-01-28 03:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 71,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRangress/pseuds/TheRangress
Summary: Alethkar has fallen into civil war. Leaving Urithiru behind, Kaladin and Renarin have to travel in search of their lost families. Among bandits, Highladies, and familiar enemies, the greatest danger of all might be the war with their own hearts.





	1. everything you've ever been is still there in the dark night

**Author's Note:**

> So, some of you probably know about this story that I've been writing since 2015. In short: I tried to write a story about the boys adopting a child, somehow it developed a plot and lost the child. (You can spot her in a cameo later on, though-- keep your eyes out.)
> 
> Anyway, some quick info: a handful of info from the Oathbringer previews has influenced the plot here, but none of that should come into play until after it's out and it's mostly stuff I could have run with independently away. Also, watch the A/N here for content warnings. Some chapters feature pretty intense bigotry, but I think the worst of it can be skipped and still leave you able to follow the plot.

_part one_

_and what do you think you’d understand?_

 

* * *

 

“Renarin, give those to me. You’ll just slow us down.” Kaladin slowed his pace, hand extended to take the packs.

“I can do it,” Renarin called, as he slowly lagged further behind. The two packs were large enough to dwarf his skinny frame, sliding off his shoulders as he tried to hide his panting. “You’re navigating.”

“Brightlord!” Kaladin sighed and turned around. “Give those to me. Now.”

Renarin stopped in his tracks. There was sweat beading on his forehead, beginning to soak through his shirt. “No,” he said softly. “I can do this.”

“Storms! Brightlord, give me _one._ ” The hilly terrain was rough enough on them. Loose rocks at every step, perilously narrow paths spiraling upwards. The sun beat down hard, and there was no luxury of rest. Exhaustionspren swarmed like carrion beasts. All of that was hard enough on someone as untrained as Renarin. The prince was pampered and had been spared most army training. Kaladin didn’t begrudge him that. He couldn’t help his epilepsy.

It was his chull-headed conviction on working himself to death. No matter how he argued, how he reasoned, Renarin refused to pace himself. He said he refused to be a burden, then burdened Kaladin with this.

Renarin lowered his gaze and let Kaladin take a single pack, though not without reluctance. He swung it over his shoulder and waited until Renarin started walking again. Best to let him set the pace.

“Brightlord,” he called.

“Yes, Captain?”

Kaladin winced. “Carrying that pack only tires you faster and slows your pace. We can’t afford to lose speed. Those armies are faster than us.” Faster than _him._ Kaladin alone could probably outpace them. “You aren’t helping.”

Renarin nodded his acknowledgment, and then did nothing. Kaladin sighed and kept walking.

There was hardly any grass to hide from their steps, just sharp rocks scattered along the ground and the path. Mountains rose up on all sides, making the landscape yet more uniform gray. The sun was still rising, reflecting on every surface.

Kaladin’s boots felt like they’d grown into his feet. He hadn’t taken them off since they’d left Urithiru. There had been little time to rest, to eat, to wash. One day melted into another, and he didn’t know how long they’d been walking. The only sense of time was a vague idea that a highstorm was coming. Every child knew that to be alone, without shelter, when a highstorm came meant death.

He’d survived a highstorm once, yes. Kaladin feared he wouldn’t again. Then there was Renarin— a Radiant too, yes, but Kaladin wouldn’t risk it. Only the Stormfather had saved him. Now, of course, the Stormfather was bonded to Dalinar…

If Dalinar lived.

He looked back to where Renarin was still struggling with the pack. His breathing was strained— Kaladin was aware of his own chest aching.

“Hand that to me before you pass out,” he said, turning. He took the strap in his hand.

Renarin refused.

“Brightlord,” Kaladin said, “you’re too exhausted.”

He tugged again, but Renarin still refused. Why did the prince have to be so storming stubborn? Kaladin stepped closer to wrest it away, and when Renarin shoved he shoved back.

“Just give it to me!” Renarin was _still fighting_ , Damnation, wasting precious time on his _pride_. Kaladin shoved again, trying to end this.

There was a sickening crack. Renarin lay on the ground.

Kaladin dropped the pack and knelt by Renarin’s side, thoughts of injuries rushing through his head. Renarin pushed him aside, then stood. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out pieces of splintered wood.

His box.

“Broken,” he said. “It’s not going to work again.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Renarin.”

“Firewood, I suppose.” There was no malice in his words, just a flatness that stung even more. The box was important, Kaladin knew. Navani had given it to him. It was years old. Kaladin had even been shown the marks where Renarin’s fingers had worn it down.

Renarin shoved it back into his pocket, as if it were truly no more than firewood. Kaladin took up the discarded pack, and started walking again.

Renarin was right. There was no time for sentiment.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been walking for. He wasn’t sure how long they’d need to keep walking through the hills. They’d turn into Alethkar once they hit the base of the Windrunner River.

Syl liked that. He was starting to get sick of her jokes.

They’d cross through relatively friendly territory. It would probably be safe. Most of the battle would likely be in the west and the south, and the armies coming from the Shattered Plains were probably headed for Kholin lands.

Probably.

The real danger would be as they approached Hearthstone. They weren’t going back home. The town was gone.

But in the mountains, he’d found his parents. A refugee camp. Just a few dozen people when Kaladin had left, but likely far more now. A Desolation and a civil war, the Everstorm— refugees, just like Kaladin and Renarin, were fleeing from every corner.

And if the camp had still survived, if no disaster had destroyed it— then they only had to reach there, and they would be safe. It would take the better part of a month, perhaps seven or eight weeks, to reach the camp.

That was assuming the best, though. No injuries. No illnesses. No letting Renarin’s pride kill him. No army catching up to them. They were two Knights Radiant, and Renarin was a Kholin prince, heir to the princedom and Alethkar itself. With the civil war, they were valuable beyond any others to all those scrabbling for the throne, and even those that wore the Kholin uniform couldn’t be trusted.

The first attack had come from Kholin men.

Renarin kept up pace now, wiping sweat from his brow and running his fingers through his hair. He watched the ground, eyes heavily lidded to protect from the all-consuming light.

The summer had just started. They could expect it to last a few more weeks. Renarin and Kaladin’s skin was already growing more freckled.

“We’ll stop to eat soon,” Kaladin said. His hair, as he tossed it from his face, felt as if it might catch fire any instant.

“I’m not hungry,” Renarin said.

“Hungry or not, you need to eat. Rest.” Kaladin unstrapped their water pouch and tossed it to Renarin. The catch was clumsy, but he didn’t drop it.

“I’m not thirsty.” He tossed it back to Kaladin. “We need to save water.”

Was he _trying_ to commit suicide? “What we _don’t_ need is for you to overheat and faint from dehydration. Brightlord, I know the water’s warm and full of crem, but you need to drink.”

“You need it more than I do.”

“When’s the last time you drank? It was last night. You’ve been walking in the blazing sun, carrying packs too heavy for you. I can’t carry you too.”

Renarin paused, then took the water from Kaladin’s outstretched hand. His drink was shallow, but it was something. “You don’t need to call me ‘Brightlord’,” he said softly, handing it back.

“Why not? It’s what you are.”

“It’s only the two of us, Captain. What does my bloodline mean here?”

“It means protecting you is my duty.” Kaladin held back any comments on how _Captain_ was equally meaningless when there was nobody for him _to_ captain. “I’m just showing the proper respect.”

“You used to call me Renarin.”

Kaladin turned around. As he stood there, Renarin shone in sunlight.

“I thought, being Bridge Four, it meant… something.”

“You weren’t Bridge Four.” Kaladin lifted his hair, showing his brands. “You joined on a whim, _Prince_ Renarin. We had no such luxury. Talk to me about what Bridge Four meant when you’ve had the hope beaten out of you. Talk to me when you’ve been enslaved and sent to your death.”

Kaladin turned, and kept walking, leaving red angerspren in his wake.

“Yes,” said Renarin, after a moment. “Yes, of course. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Kaladin grunted, and kept his eyes on the horizon.

 

**~**

 

Renarin ate slowly. They had very little food— sometimes they’d catch some crabs or cremlings, perhaps something larger, and there were just a few buds that could be cracked open for a cool fruit (or so Kaladin said— the stringy texture made Renarin gag, even as he forced it down). Beyond that, though, they lived off what Kaladin had brought with them.

Kaladin had thought to bring food when Urithiru fell. Renarin, in a blind panic, had grabbed a lamp and maps and clothes and blankets, but no food. Still, it hadn’t been much, and their journey was beginning to stretch into weeks. (Renarin marked the map, every night.) Soon the dried soulcast meat and fruits would be gone.

He didn’t need to eat much. He never had. It was easier to say he wasn’t hungry than to try to explain that there were so many things he simply could not bring himself to swallow, and precious few that were more than bearable.

Kaladin stared at him. He’d only picked at his own food, Renarin noted, barely doing more than tear a few strips of dried meat apart.

Renarin glanced down.

“Do you feel sick?” Kaladin asked.

“No,” Renarin said. Everything churned. It wasn’t an _unusual_ sort of feeling sick, at least. His body felt stiff and numb, heavy and light-headed— that, he supposed, was because his box had broken.

Because he’d broken his box.

Because Kaladin had broken his box.

It was silly to be so upset, though. It was only an object. There was no point in being upset. Renarin didn’t _need_ a puzzle box to play around with. A little fire would be of more use, and it was one less thing to carry around.

Navani had given it to him, but he didn’t want to think about Navani. He didn’t want to think of his family at all.

So, obviously, there was no reason Renarin should feel ill.

“You’re not eating or drinking well,” Kaladin said. “You’re overheated and overexerted. If you pass out, we’re dead. The best thing you can do to be useful is take care of yourself, Brightlord. Don’t worry too much about us running out of food or water. Taking the time to find more would hurt us less than if you get heat stroke.”

“I think you underestimate me,” Renarin said softly.

“I think you need to accept what you are, Brightlord. You _can’t_ keep pace with me weighed down like that. You can’t live for days off one drink of water and two bites of food, even if you were living in a palace and not walking through the Unclaimed Hills during summer. It’s my job to protect you. I can’t do that unless you protect yourself.”

“Yes,” Renarin said, looking down once more. “It would be embarrassing if, in the course of defending me from bandits and armies, I were to die of starvation.”

“Damnation, you can’t afford _pride._ Dying because you were too stupid to eat and rest doesn’t make you strong. Stop making my job harder than it needs to be.”

Silently, Renarin forced another bite down. Kaladin took a shallow drink of water and then held the pouch out to Renarin. It was an order, not an offer.

The water was so hot Renarin feared it might scorch his throat, and tasted of crem. There was a metallic undertone as well, that could have been blood. Renarin didn’t care to guess whose. He drank long enough that Kaladin would be satisfied, and handed the pouch back.

“Careful,” Kaladin said. “Go too fast, and it’ll come back up.”

That wasn’t a thought Renarin needed.

“Sorry,” he said, trying to brush aside a gust of fluttering shamespren.

Fortunately, at that moment he was distracted by Kaladin removing his shirt, leaving the sun free to shine on his sweaty, bare skin.

After a lingering glance, he asked “Why?”

“I felt like I was going to cook to death.” He shoved his shirt in one of the packs, then rummaged until he found some thin twine. Slowly, Kaladin pulled his hair tightly back and tied it up.

“Oh.” Renarin gave a nod. He watched Kaladin stuffing a strip of dried fruit into his mouth, and tried not to let his eyes stray too far.

His eyes strayed. Renarin shoved a handful of food in his mouth, and his eyes strayed yet again to the curves of the muscles in Kaladin’s arms, his sharp collarbone, the slightest glimpse of his _hips_ …

“You look hot.”

“What?” Renarin lifted a hand to his cheek. He could certainly feel heat there. “Oh. I am.”

“Watch out for that.” Kaladin’s hair was already coming loose. Thin curls were plastered to his forehead, fatter ones threatening to pull from the topknot and hang listlessly.

“Right. Don’t want me passing out and dying of heatstroke.” Renarin tore at his lunch. “Has that… helped?”

“Has what?”

“The…” Renarin gestured towards his own chest with a half-eaten lump of dried… something. He swallowed too fast to taste.

“Oh. No, not really.” Kaladin leaned back, stretching out.

“I’m sorry.” Renarin forced another bite down. “At least it’s cold at night.”

“Yes,” he said flatly, “It’s absolutely storming wonderful.”

That had to be sarcasm. Renarin hummed in agreement. The nights could get so cold it hurt to breathe, your skin freezing as the sweat evaporated. Even with the blankets and their old army coats, and even Kaladin grabbing Renarin for warmth at night… it was cold.

“I was,” he said, slowly, looking down and gnawing on a strip of meat, “just trying to look on the bright side.”

“I see.”

“Of course, at the moment I’d do a lot for a side that _wasn’t_ bright.” Renarin gestured to the surrounding shine of the sun on the rocks.

Kaladin snorted at that. “All a matter of perspective, isn’t it?”

Renarin made a hum of agreement. They were nearly done eating, but would still rest a minute before setting out on their journey again. Anxiety ran through Renarin’s veins, telling him to run and never stop running.

He slowly chewed on a chunk of fruit. Disgusting. Renarin forced it down, then grabbed the water pouch to sip again. Get the memory of the texture washed away.

Unwashed, they smelled like a stable. It was quiet, at least, but Renarin would have gladly traded sitting there to being covered in an entire bottle of Adolin’s perfume. (Well, maybe if that came with a change in seasons. Or Adolin himself.)

No. Don’t think about Adolin. Never think about family. That left very little to think about. Renarin was left reciting poetry under his breath, or historical facts, or explaining a fabrial to himself. Even that didn’t work very often.

Renarin leaned forward and rocked himself. Not too obvious, keep it casual.

“Do you need some privacy?”

“What? No.” He looked up at Kaladin. He was still shirtless. “I’m fine.”

“Whatever you say.” Kaladin stood and stretched out, effortlessly bending down and holding his palms flat to the ground.

Renarin nodded along, watching Kaladin. Almighty, his head hurt. His hands ached to move, everything in Renarin screaming at him.

He sat perfectly still, gnawing on his food. Kaladin stretched his neck out, and Renarin winced at the crack. The food was gone. Renarin gnawed for a moment on his hand, then held it still in his lap when Kaladin looked again.

“You ready?” he asked, shouldering a pack.

“Whenever you say, Captain.” Renarin stood.

Kaladin sighed, loudly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and was ignored.

 

**~**

 

Renarin spread a blanket out while Kaladin pulled his boots off and his shirt on.

The moons offered little light this time of year, but a small fire and a handful of spheres were enough to see by. The cold was still refreshing, though soon it would grow bitter.

He lay on the ground, looking up at the stars. They were beautiful. Yet now, in a way he’d never been upon the Shattered Plains, Renarin was aware that this was not quite the sky of Kholinar.

It was subtle, like the way the night changed with the seasons, but suddenly a place in Renarin ached with the thought that he might never see the sky over Kholinar again. And this sky, too, the sky of the Shattered Plains— he would likely never see it again. The places Renarin had known as home were lost to him.

Kholinar. The thought of it made Renarin’s throat run dry. The palace had been destroyed. His room, the gardens and halls where he’d played, _everything_ Renarin had known in his childhood— gone. The sky there would be all that remained.

Would he ever see that sky again? If the world lived long enough, if Renarin lived long enough, would he be brave enough to go to Kholinar?

If he did, it wouldn’t be the Kholinar that Renarin had called home.

Renarin spared a glance for Kaladin, glaring at a hole in his sock. He’d lost his home too. Hearthstone was gone. He’d _seen_ the wreckage.

They would find a home. At his parents’ camp, or onwards. Somehow, they would put their worlds back together again.

They would find their families. They would find Bridge Four.

Even his faith seemed hollow.

The world was burning around them, and Renarin knew he and Kaladin were the ones charged to put out the flames, and save everything they could. No matter how often Kaladin said they were headed for safety, Renarin knew they would end up fighting. He didn’t fear battles.

But just for a moment, alone in the mountains, lost and surrounded by enemies, and utterly useless— the only thing Renarin wanted to save was himself. He wanted to _go home._ He wanted to be safe, with his family— his father, Adolin, Aunt Navani, _Jasnah._ He’d always been too busy to mourn her.

Who else would Renarin need to mourn?

Don’t think of that. Best not to think at all. Renarin turned from the stars.

“We didn’t pack a needle,” Kaladin said.

“Or thread.”

“No, we _do_ have thread. We just didn’t get a needle.” Stuffing everything into bags in a blind panic and a hurry left holes like that. Ridiculous amounts of mismatched socks were the most obvious, leaving Renarin struggling to keep from having one sock inches taller than the other. It was hard enough to wear two of a different yarn or a different type of knit.

Kaladin held up the thread. Almost a full spool, too. “I was going to patch my sock.”

“Take one of mine if it’s bothering you. We’ve got an odd number anyway. We can unravel the old one, or burn it.” They’d need to feed the fire again. Renarin felt at the broken pieces of his box.

“No.” Kaladin reached into the pack. “Keep what’s left of your box.”

“It’s no use except to be burnt.”

“Your _aunt_ gave that to you. How long is it you said you’ve had it? Nearly ten years? Keep it.”

They had enough oil to burn a few weeks more, and the inedible shells of the rare fruits. The kindling would run short soon. Renarin had vague concepts of how to turn the stony ground into a makeshift ditch, to light like a lamp. (They were lucky that, with so many Radiants around, Dalinar had thought to be sure there was redundancy for all stormlight lamps.)

“Yes, sir.” Renarin touched it a little longer, then pulled back with a splinter digging into his finger.

“Do I need to kiss it out?”

He ducked away from Kaladin. “No, Captain! I’m fine!” Renarin hissed and dug into his finger. It was still sticking out enough to grab, but his nails had been gnawed almost to the quick and struggled.

He didn’t need Kaladin’s help. He wasn’t a child, to be patronized and helped with every little thing. Renarin was a man. As much as he was incapable of, as useless and pathetic as he was, he could _pull a splinter from his own finger._

He didn’t need to be patronized.

He’d never needed to be patronized.

By the time Renarin finally worked his splinter out, he was sure the look on Kaladin’s face was a mockery. He took a deep breath, trying not to scowl or throw it at him.

“Dinner should be ready soon enough.” Roasted crab. It was dry and bland, but inoffensive. Not anywhere near enough for the two of them, really, but it was better than nothing.

“Good,” Renarin said, dropping the splinter. “I look forward to it. Thank you.”

Kaladin looked at Renarin as if the boy were insane. Granted, he was, but Renarin squirmed inside with hot panic as to how his _politeness_ was wrong now. He’d overcompensated.

When would Kaladin realize? He’d already learned to hate Renarin, but for the wrong reasons. How long until he knew Renarin for what he truly was— a halfwit playing at being a man?

To think Renarin had ever dreamed of earning his respect. That would never come. Now he had become a burden.

“You’re welcome,” Kaladin said simply, moving to poke at dinner in the ashes.

Renarin hummed and lay down, still trying to calm himself. His fingers tapped a relentless beat on the stones.

Still, it wasn’t as if Kaladin was the man Renarin had once held undying faith in. No. He’d turned out to be just like everyone else, and Renarin was a fool for ever thinking better existed.

“Dinner’s done,” Kaladin said. He tossed a crab to Renarin, and it hit him on the nose.

Renarin sighed and sat up, taking it in one hand and the knife Kaladin offered in the other.

“Sorry,” said Kaladin.

“It’s fine,” Renarin said. “I wasn’t fast enough.” It wasn’t like it had been hot enough to burn. Just warm. He cracked the shell open and handed back the knife. The meat really wasn’t bad. A bit dry, but when nearly all you ate was _dried_ that didn’t matter as much. Renarin had no objections to bland and repetitive. Perhaps it would have been better with spices, or if they weren’t eating the same thing nearly every day, but it was simple. Renarin liked that.

They ate in silence, only a crab not even the size of Renarin’s palm each. Crabs were harder to catch when it was hot, and they didn’t have the time to dedicate the day to hunting.

It was freezing now. Once the shells of the crabs were half-buried, with numb fingers, Kaladin dug out all the blankets he could. Renarin’s predilection for collecting blankets, as many and as heavy as he could, was possibly the most useful thing he’d contributed.

He didn’t know what to make of the fact that Kaladin stayed close to him. Always touching, with one arm around him. It was a highly intimate way of laying.

Renarin breathed softly, unsure if he wanted Kaladin touching him or not. It felt wrong, but it was grounding, and distracting. He felt safe, at least.

He reached a hand into his pocket, gently feeling the warm pieces of smooth wood. Kaladin was already out like a light, mumbling softly as he felt the movement and reaching for Renarin’s wrist.

“Sorry,” Renarin whispered, hoping Kaladin would understand. “Sorry I’m the one you’re stuck with. I’m sorry it was me and not any of the others. I’m sorry for being so useless, Kaladin.”

Kaladin lay his hand on Renarin’s, his other arm tight around his chest. It was a while still before Renarin would join him in sleep.

For one vibrant moment, he’d begun to believe he could mean something, and that life could be more than a cage. Now, that was gone.

Kaladin, the man who’d once been his light, was taking it from him.


	2. we're just sinning against ourselves

“Oh, storm off.” Renarin took a sloppy drink of water and shoved the pouch back. “I’m a grown man; I’ve gathered I need water.”

“Then act like it.” Kaladin let out a slow breath. Sweat was beading along the lines of his scars. “I don’t know why you’re so storming bent on killing yourself, but— ”

“This is not me bent on killing myself.” He turned around, clenching his fist so broken nails dug into his soft flesh. “I may be bad at suicide, but not that bad.”

Kaladin was silent. Renarin felt the ache of his gaze. Unsteady breath heaved at his chest as he stood there, daring Kaladin to speak.

“I could jump,” Renarin pointed out, voice soft. He gestured to the gaping jaws of the ravine beneath them. “It wouldn’t kill me directly, but you could hardly come after me, and the wounds would finish me even if you did.”

“I would come for you,” said Kaladin.

“Why? You’ve said it yourself. I only slow you down.” His pulse was racing. His body was fading from awareness. “I _should_ jump. Without me, you would have a chance of survival.”

“My job is to keep you alive, Renarin.” Kaladin stepped forward, holding a hand out. “If you jump, I will follow you.”

“And we’ll both die in a ditch.”

“So we will.”

“And what of the _others_ you’re sworn to protect, captain? What of Bridge Four? What of _my family?”_ His chest was a furnace, his words molten steel. His mind was back in Urithiru, a frozen tableau of the last time he’d seen his father. “No. You already abandoned them.”

“We had our _orders._ ”

“You should have disobeyed!” He forced his head down, his eyes shut, refusing to allow the tears. A fist struggled against only air. “You abandoned him. You forced me to abandon him.”

“That’s what this is about? I took the only chance we’d have to get you to safety.” He was quiet. Why wasn’t he shouting? “I did intend to go back, with the reinforcements we needed, _but_ …”

Their only option had been the Oathgate, and then there had been no way back.

“You should let me die.” Words were choking him now. “I should have died a long time ago, I should have… He’s dead. He’s dead because of _me_.”

“We don’t know your father died.”

“Because you abandoned him!” Renarin gasped down air. “If you can do that, then you can leave me. Why are you still trying to save me?”

“Your father _ordered_ me…”

Words trailed off, and Renarin had to turn away and press his hands hard to his head. He was about to collapse, and for once he didn’t even want to fight it. He didn’t even fear looking a fool.

“I’m sorry,” Kaladin said.

Renarin’s knees hit the sharp ground and he wondered why he was even still trying to breathe. He did his best to bury his head away, still breathing, rough and ragged and forced. He didn’t react at all to the soft touch of a hand to his shoulder.

“You’re worth saving,” said Kaladin.

No.

“You’re right. You’re right, I couldn’t… I failed. I won’t fail you too. I _can’t_.”

He wanted his family. He wanted his father, his brother, his cousins, his aunt— Damnation, he wanted his _mother._

“Renarin. Breathe.” Kaladin moved, putting his hand to Renarin’s chest. “In, slowly. Now out.”

He could breathe. He could obey. He followed along, taking slow breaths, and his mind faded slowly back into existence.

“Better?” Kaladin asked, pulling away.

Renarin stared down at the ground, watching angerspren fading. “Yes.”

They stood, and Renarin didn’t take the hand offered.

“Can you promise me,” Kaladin said, his voice strange, “that you are _not_ about to throw yourself into the ravine?”

He thought about it.

“I won’t,” he said. Kaladin took a moment, nodded, and began to walk. Renarin took a deep breath, and followed. “No,” he said, “if the exhaustion doesn’t finish me off in time, I think I’ll poison myself instead.”

They walked in silence, ate in silence, and when it was time to sleep, in silence Kaladin pulled Renarin into his arms roughly and held him tight.

When the morning came, they moved on in silence.

 

~

 

The highstorm was coming quickly.

“Found one!” Renarin shouted through the wind. Kaladin turned toward the voice, squinting to see the crevice through his watering eyes.

“Can we both fit?”

“Yes,” Renarin said, crouching down. “Send the packs in first, let me stow them.”

As Renarin wedged himself in, Kaladin dug out their spheres. There was a handful of jewelry Renarin had grabbed, and he clutched that with the purse. With his other hand, he handed off the packs to Renarin.

He shoved himself through the crevice now, scraping against the rock as he tried to find room to fit. One last wriggle and there was more room— still not enough, but he could breathe. His head sharply hit rock as he tried to free his arm, just enough to stow their gems toward the entrance of the crevice.

Renarin’s breathing was labored. Damnation. The visions. They would come, sooner or later. Kaladin knew little about them, but he knew enough. He knew they terrified Renarin more than anything.

“Is there any way I can make you more comfortable?” Kaladin hazarded. “Could I…”

“Keep talking,” Renarin said softly. “Keep talking, please.”

That was possibly the hardest thing he could have asked for. He reached out to touch Renarin, to hold him as if that would stop the visions.

“We should reach the river in a week, perhaps a bit more,” he said, desperately trying to cast his thoughts out of their cave. “The journey will be easier from there. Fresh water, more to eat. More life. The river will guide us out of the Hills.”

Renarin hummed polite interest, tense in Kaladin’s arms. The rain grew harder and harder outside.

“Back to Alethkar,” he said, voice strained. “I haven’t seen it in years.”

“We should be safe for a while.” The spray of the storm was soaking into Kaladin’s back. Some strange black spren flashed in his vision. “We’ll enter Alethkar far from the borders.”

“Roion,” Renarin said, pressing into Kaladin. He looked up, forcing a split second of eye contact. “We’ll be close enough to where Kholin territory borders on Roion. He died with no son, and his daughter... There won’t be peace there.”

“We’ll survive anyway,” Kaladin said. He ran his hand down Renarin’s arm, to take his hand.

Renarin shut his eyes and nodded, slightly.

His grip on Kaladin’s hand was gentle. Then hard. He hissed, “One, now sixteen. The broken one reigns.”

“It’s all right,” Kaladin said, pulling Renarin in tighter. The air smelled of crem. “It’s all right, Renarin. Everything’s all right.”

“They found us.” Renarin spoke through gritted teeth. “All sides— there’s no escape—”

“You’re safe,” Kaladin said. “We _will_ escape, I promise you.”

“Keep talking.” Renarin forced the words out, syllable by syllable. “About— something— else. Blood! Vengeance. Justice.”

About something else. Something else. Kaladin searched for something he could speak about. All he could do was recite medical facts, and that comforted only him. The torrents of rain sent chills through his back, but at least he shielded Renarin from that.

“Prisoners,” Renarin whispered, his voice hoarse and low. “She wants me.” His voice slowly raised. “Where’s my family? I want you to tell me— ” now Renarin _shouted_ — “about my _family_!”

The storm bellowed at them, and Kaladin’s mouth was dry.

“No more fears!” Renarin choked as he spat the words. Deep purple determinationspren pounded against the walls of the cave. “No more _lies_. Tell me what I need to know. Tell me!”

Tien, fearful on dark highstorm afternoons. They’d been so young. And his mother…

“ _Let the river flow, my love._ ” Kaladin shut his eyes, letting the old tune return to him. “ _It will never harm you…_ ”

“I’m alone,” he whispered. “Abandoned.”

“ _Thunder in the sky above._ ” He raised his voice. You had to sing louder than the storm. Louder than Renarin’s visions. “ _I’ll be here to comfort you._ ”

“Voidbringers.” He hissed, but his grip on Kaladin’s hand had loosened. “The world… the Desolation… no! I won’t believe you. We _can change this_.”

“We can,” Kaladin whispered. “ _If a whitespine passes by, I’ll be here beside you._ ”

“Show me Adolin! Show me my father! Tell me what their future is! Let me save them!”

“ _We will never say goodbye. I’ll always be beside you._ ”

“I don’t believe you! I’ll never believe you! You won’t convince me to give up!”

“ _Through the seasons I’ll be here. That’s an oath and promise._ ”

“No,” Renarin whispered. “He won’t die. I won’t let him die. I won’t!”

“ _Always together through the years._ ”

“Stop it. Stop showing me these. Show me my family. They’re my future.”

“ _Nothing could take you from me._ ”

“They must be. I can’t lose them. I can’t!”

“ _Sleep now…_ ”

“No!” Renarin screamed again, straining against Kaladin and forcing himself into the stone ceiling.

“ _My love,_ ” Kaladin sang, gripping him tighter to him, holding his hand as tightly as he could. “Renarin. Renarin. You’re all right.”

“Adolin,” Renarin whispered. “Father. Aunt…”

“ _I will keep you safe and sound…_ ”

There was a moment, and suddenly the tension in Renarin snapped. He lay in Kaladin’s arms, soft and limp. The rain was slowly calming, a gentler spray on Kaladin’s soaked back now.

“You’re all right,” he repeated to Renarin, running a hand along his wrist. “It’s all right. Everything’s all right. You’re safe.”

Renarin moaned softly, but said nothing in response. He made no movement away from the touch.

“Everything’s going to be all right,” Kaladin repeated. “Whatever you saw, it’s no more true than that the Everstorm would kill us all.” Renarin made another sound.

Nothing moved but breath until the rain ended. Kaladin waited a few more heartbeats, then pulled himself out of the crack. He offered a hand to Renarin, and a moment later found a pack in it. The packs, of course, came first. Then Renarin.

He didn’t speak. He kept his eyes downcast, his hands clasped tight. Kaladin could understand that. He looked to where he had tucked the spheres. A few had rolled away and were easily picked back up, perhaps a few had been taken by the storm. He tucked them all back away, then looked to Renarin and nodded.

“We’ll rest for a few minutes,” he said. “Then wash and collect water. Are you hungry?”

Renarin shook his head, tracing his fingers along the ground in spirals. He looked up.

“You’re bleeding,” Kaladin said, moving forward. Now they were out in the light, he could see where the side of Renarin’s face had been scraped by the cave walls. From hairline to jaw he’d been scraped raw, shoulder and arm bloody too.

“Storms,” Kaladin said softly. He reached for the packs, and pulled the spheres back out. He took a moment to look for a clearchip, then held that out for Renarin. “I think you could use this.”

It was a while before Renarin moved his hand, and he only closed Kaladin’s fingers back around the sphere.

“Renarin.” Kaladin breathed. “Please, just… Please.”

“I’m fine,” he said, his words unhewn.

“No,” Kaladin snapped, moving forward. “You’re not fine, you’re bleeding. You’ve just been through… I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

“I’m fine,” Renarin repeated. His narrow chest heaved with each breath, and he unsteadily stared at the ground.

“Why can’t you just let me keep you safe?” Something in him snapped.

He grabbed Renarin by the shoulder and forced that storming clearchip in his face. It took a moment, but finally Renarin’s eyes shone. His raw skin healed, the exhaustion faded from his face.

“There,” Kaladin muttered, turning away. He knelt down to pack their new stores of stormlight, then splashed a handful of rainwater on his face. It made him feel more human to be the slightest bit _clean_.

Renarin was leaning against the rock, hands pressed hard to the rough surface. His eyes were on the horizon, lips parted in thought.

Kaladin rolled his sleeves up and poured water down his arms. It was slowly coming to him what he had done. It was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly, not quite daring to look up. He could remember… “I shouldn’t have forced you, Brightlord.”

“You were right.” Renarin’s voice was flat. “I was being a fool, and it was your right to stop me.”

“I was wrong to grab you.”

“I was wrong to disobey you.”

“No, you…” He swallowed, and looked at Renarin again. “I hurt you.”

“By forcing me to heal an injury, you hurt me? By fighting all this time to keep me alive, you’ve hurt me? You did your job, and I’m wrong to fight you.” His hands tapped against the stone. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been too hard on you. I—”

“Why do you call me ‘Brightlord’?”

Kaladin froze. Renarin’s gaze had already moved off him, to the ground. He drew a foot through a puddle.

“It’s just,” Renarin said softly, “I don’t see why you _should_. Even— even though I’m not truly Bridge Four, you are my captain. I obey— I _should_ obey you.”

“You’re the prince,” Kaladin said.

“I am prince of nothing, and always have been.”

“But…” He looked back to the ground, then up. “You’re the _prince_.”

“You used my name before. What has changed? I’m no higher now than I was. I’m lower. Yet more worthless now than I was then.”

“ _Renarin._ ” He stood, staring with his mouth open to speak. The moment of outspokenness had faded, and Renarin wilted like a startled grass.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I— I didn’t mean to— whatever you think best.”

“What do you want of me?” He spread his hands. “I’m sorry, Renarin. I ordered you to leave with me because I thought it was the only way you’d survive. You were already wounded, we were all powerless— I can’t lose you. I can’t change what happened. I wish I could make this right.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Renarin snapped. He turned to Kaladin. “I should be asking what you want, and I should obey instead of being even more of a burden on you than I already am.”

“You’re not a burden.”

The silence hung in the air. What was there to say? Renarin moved from the rock, and Kaladin bit back a flinch.

“I shouldn’t be angry at you for saving my life,” Renarin whispered, looking up.

“You save mine.” He looked off at the horizon. “The only reason I keep going is to protect you.”

“Then with how I’ve been treating you, it’s a wonder you’re alive.”

“The things I’ve said, it’s a wonder you are.”

The soft touch to his arm made him jump, but a breath later he relaxed into Renarin’s touch.

“I’m sorry,” Renarin breathed. “I’m so sorry, captain. I should never have blamed you. I don’t know what came into my mind.”

“I understand,” Kaladin said. He looked up, to Renarin’s trembling jaw. “I know how you feel. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did.”

Silence hung heavy in the clear and light air.

“But I know how you feel too,” said Renarin. He pulled away. “Might I carry one of the packs for a stretch? I promise, when you order me to hand it over, I _will_.”

Kaladin didn’t speak. He moved over to the packs, and handed one to Renarin.

“Thank you,” Renarin breathed, his eyes shining.

“We’ve wasted enough time.” They’d wasted more than that.

He turned to keep on walking, Renarin at his side.

“We’ll survive,” said Renarin, watching the horizon. “I swear it.”

Kaladin watched him for a moment. “I swear it too,” he said.

There was more to say, he thought. But he had neither the words nor the courage, and, it seemed, neither did Renarin.

The silence weighed in his chest.


	3. a wet moon shines a prismed light

In the middle of the night, Kaladin woke and found Renarin not there.

Fear ran cold through him, sickening and twisted. He was on his feet in a second. The only thought in his mind was to  _find him_.

It took an eternity of a few seconds to spot his silhouette, his hair shining in purple moonlight. He was sitting on a rock, a lone figure in the night. Kaladin shut his fists and willed his pulse to slow. Only then did he begin to move.

“Renarin,” he said softly, and Renarin jumped and put a hand to his chest.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, eyes darting away. “I had… thoughts.”

A ribbon of blue light whipped around Kaladin’s head, then manifested as a small blue figure sitting just above Renarin’s shoulder. Syl had been quiet lately, and seeing her helped to ease him.

“Hello, Brightness,” he said softly. Syl stifled a giggle.

Kaladin sat down on the rock, by Renarin’s side. He said nothing, but looked up at the constellations above.

He almost felt he should apologize. Another part of him wanted to pull Renarin into his arms and beg him to stay, because Kaladin needed to know he was  _safe_. If he couldn’t feel Renarin, feel each breath and feel his heartbeat and know  _nothing_ could harm him…

“The leading scientific theory,” Renarin said, leaning back to look at the sky, “is that the stars are a sort of spren.”

“They’re not,” said Syl. “Cognitively, they don’t even exist.”

Renarin hummed softly. “Iri poets call them fatespren. I’m sure you understand why that topic would preoccupy me.”

Kaladin grunted his agreement, looking up to the skies with Renarin.

“Each one writing out our fates as they slowly move with the seasons. And when the stars fall…” He traced a line in the sky with his finger. “Some say it’s a hero’s death. Some say it’s people who’ve turned from their destiny, or had it stolen from them. An omen of oncoming disaster. Every poem I know says that the sky should be  _full_ of falling stars.”

“I suppose that isn’t how fate is written,” Kaladin said slowly. Though he wasn’t truly religious, and never had been, it was strange to speak of the future as knowable.

Renarin nodded again. “Sometimes I thought if I looked long enough, I’d see how I fit in.” He leaned back until he lay on the rock. “Even if there were fatespren, I’d have no place in them.”

“I doubt that’s true.” Kaladin lay beside him.

He snorted, running a hand through the loose hair at his forehead. “You know perfectly well. I’m useless, dead weight. I’m no great hero. In the end, my life is meaningless.”

“My fate would hardly be written in the stars, then.”

“Why wouldn’t you? Everything you’ve done, everything you are— if our fates truly were written in the stars, you would be that one.” Renarin pointed. “You would be the east star. The brightest. Always constant.”

“Great heroes,” Kaladin said, “are lighteyes.”

Renarin was silent, and Kaladin almost moved to stand. “We both know that isn’t true. There are as many great men darkeyed as there are fools and cowards lighteyed. And I’m the latter.”

“You’re a Knight Radiant, Renarin.”

“It’s not just anyone who can get the Nahel bond,” Syl agreed. “You’re special, Renarin. Maybe you don’t see it yet, but Glys does, and  _I_ do.”

Renarin shut his eyes. “I suppose.”

It was a long while before Kaladin spoke. “You were brave enough to come to me and ask to join Bridge Four. You were brave enough to jump into an arena full of Shardbearers to save your brother. You carried the Blade as it screamed at you. I wasn’t strong enough for that.”

“I had no choice. I did nothing— _you_ saved Adolin.”

“You did have a choice.” He turned to Renarin. “I know after the things I’ve said and done, you might not believe me, but almost from the moment I saw you… I knew you were  _better._ You could have chosen to be hard and arrogant. You were surrounded by callous, thoughtless men, and you chose to be better than them.”

“No, I didn’t. I’ve lived my life fighting to become like them.”

“Yet when you had that chance, you became Bridge Four instead.”

They fell silent.

“You are Bridge Four,” Kaladin said, softly. “What I said… I know better. Your burden was different, but every burden is. You chose Bridge Four, despite your fear. That’s enough.”

Renarin bit at his lip. “Thank you.”

“It’s just the truth.” Kaladin turned back to the stars. “I don’t know that you’ve got any sort of fate. I don’t know any of us do.”

“You must.”

He breathed a soft snort. “I must?”

“You’re so remarkable.”

“There are plenty of men like me. It’s just that most of them get killed.” He shut his eyes. “I was lucky.”

“I was speaking of your character,” Renarin said, slowly. “I think, no matter what, it’s a rare man who could inspire such loyalty. You could have lost  _everything_ when you stayed to save the Kholin army. You did. And I will never be out of your debt for that.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t I? I owe you my life, at the very least. My life, my family… everything that I have, I only have because you have such nobility.” Kaladin sat up, looking down at Renarin. Renarin paused, but he said nothing. “I’ve had plenty of time to learn history. You remind me of the old heroes, Kaladin. So noble it seems I must be looking at you through centuries of myth.”

Kaladin hummed. He took Renarin’s hand. The stone was cold beneath them.

“That’s not true,” he said softly, “but thank you for saying it.”

Renarin pulled himself up and leaned into Kaladin’s shoulder. Kaladin wrapped his arm around Renarin, bringing him in closer. He felt so small, and fragile, even though Kaladin thought he knew better than that.

“And to think we nearly drove each other to suicide,” Renarin muttered.

He wasn’t sure why, but Kaladin breathed a laugh. “That isn’t hard.”

“You really think I’m…” He trailed off, tucking his head away in shame.

“You’re as much Bridge Four as any of us.” Kaladin leaned his head against Renarin’s. “You may call me a great hero, but I’m in awe of your strength and the things you’ve endured.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Renarin clasped his hand with Kaladin’s.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

They held to each other tight, with no words left to say. It almost felt as if, for once, they were stronger than the night.


	4. why do you shiver now?

Renarin was softer now.

Kaladin felt it too, the gentle silence that came with memories. He had been angry, and now he wasn’t. He wasn’t one thing or the other anymore. There was guilt, and it was empty. There was _always_ guilt. It would endure.

Would he? Would Renarin?

Nothing endured but the emptiness.

 

~

 

_It was the day._

_It was the day when blood would run red among the stones at their feet, glinting in the sun. It was the day Renarin would be alone._

 

~

 

In the sunlight, Renarin was golden. It glowed around his hair, on his eyelashes. There was something around him that Kaladin couldn’t name. When asked, Renarin had handed the pack he carried back that day, with no resentment. He had offered a sort of smile. He walked on, tension in his shoulders and that absent softness in his face.

There was something about that boy, and Kaladin ached to know it. What drew him so to Renarin? Somehow, he had faith. He tried so to doubt everything, but in a few things he could have faith.

Renarin was among them. He didn’t know why, but he was grateful.

 

~

 

_They were to all sides, even though Renarin couldn’t see them. He knew them, could see them stretching out to the horizon. Getting closer. Ever closer._

 

~

 

“We should only be a week from the river,” Kaladin called, trying to keep his mind from wandering. No good ever came of losing focus. “Then it should take about two to reach the camp. Almost half the journey done with.”

“And more than half the work,” Renarin said.

They were on level ground now, but the next hill was a craggy and steep slope. It towered above them, brushing the sky.

The sky.

Kaladin reached into a pack he carried and ran his hand through the smoothness of the spheres. He could simply Lash them to the mountain, of course, and keep their feet steady. He had done that before, to spare the Light.

They had enough now, though. Kaladin looked up, feeling the cool wind on his hot face. His lips softly parted, and he could feel the heart in his chest.

“Definitely the easier half ahead.” Kaladin turned around. “Are you afraid of heights?”

 

~

 

_He stared at Kaladin, knowing he was living but seeing him dead. Renarin could see the blood, could nearly smell it in the heat. It should have been him. The blow was meant for Renarin. Yet it was Kaladin who would take it._

_What could Renarin do? He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t happen as he’d seen it. Yet the Everstorm had still come._

_What could the two of them alone do to stand against armies?_

_It would happen. There was nothing they could do to change it. Renarin knew it with an aching certainty._

 

~

 

“Captain, do you know how many times I had to jump off the roof?” Renarin paused. “Yes, I am, but I endure.”

His breath was nearly laughter. “Would you fly with me?”

His eyes shot up. “Yes.”

Kaladin nodded, feeling himself start to smile. “Then we’ll fly,” he said.

Renarin’s smile was crooked and warm, and he pushed himself up on his toes, bouncing slightly.

 

~

 

_He walked on, eyes shut, hearing the sound of arrows flying and seeing nothing but the armies. Renarin tried to hide it, tried to ignore it, but he knew._

 

~

 

Kaladin took a few steps toward the cliffside, eyes on the sky. He dug through the spheres and pulled some out, rolling them around in his hand. Behind him stood Renarin, watching him with hands clasped behind his back.

He turned back around, breathing in the Light in. Spheres tucked away, he reached out for Renarin.

Renarin clung tightly to the front of Kaladin’s shirt. The smile was coming back. Kaladin took Renarin into his arms and turned back to the cliff.

 

~

 

_Rows of coats, in matching dark blue on the paleness of the gravel and stone. Swords and spears and arrows nothing more than glinting spots of light. Panting, gasping for breath, Kaladin’s hand going limp in his tight grip. The feeling of gravel digging into his knees. Looking up from the blood._

_Then, nothing._

 

~

 

The Stormlight ran through Kaladin’s body, erasing the dull ache of exhaustion. His sweaty hands stuck to the dampness of Renarin’s shirt.

The sky welcomed him for the first time in far too long. Kaladin shut his eyes, just letting himself feel the air around him, letting himself feel the sensation of being so desperately far from the ground.

Renarin inhaled sharply.

“Too fast?” Kaladin asked.

“No,” he breathed.

 

~

 

_They were running from the same thing, waiting for them in red._

 

~

 

The towering wall was swiftly becoming something beneath them. Kaladin watched it, the winds rushing past him and holding him in their embrace.

In his arms, Renarin’s breath was too fast and shallow. Kaladin could feel his pulse rushing.

“Renarin?”

“Yes?” He snapped to attention a little too quickly.

He was quiet when he spoke. “Trust me.”

“I do,” said Renarin, voice as gentle as his grip was rough. “Unconditionally.”

“Really?” Kaladin raised an eyebrow. “Then let go.”

One deep breath, and then he did.

 

~

 

_Dead. Dead, dead, dead. They were all dead, and now Kaladin and Renarin would join them. Why was he fighting it? They should have died a long time before. Now the others he loved were all dead, and soon Roshar would be too. What was the harm in dying today?_

 

~

 

A Lashing and Kaladin’s arms held him in the air. The steepness of the hill was below them now.

Renarin’s breath finally slowed.

“It’s beautiful up here,” he said at last, slowly relaxing and resting his head against Kaladin’s shoulder. “Everything is so…”

“I know,” said Kaladin. He took a moment, just one, to truly look at the ground below. From so high, even that ugly bare landscape held beauty in the marbled roughness.

He never wanted to leave the sky. They soared over the Unclaimed Hills, and Kaladin tried not to think yet of landing.

 

~

 

_West. Renarin didn’t know what lay to the west. He had no vision of that. Certainty, the horrible weight of certainty lay only to the north and the south._

 

~

 

Renarin’s arms slowly wrapped around him, simply to be there and not clinging in fear.

“The wind,” he murmured.

“I know,” said Kaladin. “You feel it?” He felt the curves of Renarin’s narrow ribcage beneath his hand.

“I feel something,” he said, hand running down Kaladin’s back. “It’s… it’s…”

The cool of the wind and the warmth of Renarin. He never wanted to land. On the ground he would only be empty and lost again. This was where he belonged.

“It protects us,” Renarin whispered.

“The wind is mine.” He brushed his thumb along Renarin’s shoulder. “This is my domain. You will always be safe here. I swear it.”

“It’s safe,” Renarin agreed, his voice a little absent.

Kaladin watched the ground beneath them and wished it could stay small.

 

~

 

_There was hope to the west._

 

~

 

“West,” Renarin said, digging his fingers into Kaladin’s back. “Kaladin. We need to go west.”

“What?”

“My vision.” Renarin forced himself to breathe. “To the north and south, there are armies. Wait until you see them, if you must. But go west, Kaladin, and not south.”

Kaladin was silent. Renarin shut his eyes, trying to banish the image of Kaladin, lying dead on the ground, his blood spilled everywhere. His blood on Renarin’s hands.

Renarin pulled his hands away, and let go.

“Please,” he said, more to himself than to Kaladin. “Trust me.”

It was a long, achingly long moment before Kaladin spoke again.

“I do.”

Renarin watched the ground beneath them, praying to a god he thought might want his death.

 

~

 

“Kholinar,” Renarin said.

They’d eaten silently, and now lay watching the stars. They’d probably reach Alethkar before the next night’s camp.

“Kholinar?”

“Well, not Kholinar precisely, but— if we head towards it, we’ll be going northwest. It lies between two tributaries of the river. If we just go north again, we’ll likely run into those armies. I think we should go towards Kholinar.”

Kaladin couldn’t argue with his logic. Renarin knew Kholinar was destroyed. He could handle it.

“Smart.” Kaladin rolled over and looked at Renarin. He had both his arms stretched out, resting on his forehead. His breaths were slow, deep sighs. “We’ll go that way.”

Kaladin rolled back away, still seeing the army in the back of his mind. Since their escape, his mind had returned to the battle of Urithiru.

Kholinar would be war again, and this time the gemheart would be Renarin.

It ached to think about that. His mind kept going further, and further back, endless war and battles and death. It did no good to think about it.

“I saw you shot through the throat with an arrow meant for me,” Renarin said, softly.

“I’ve seen things like that,” Kaladin said.

“I can’t stop— I can’t stop thinking— ”

Kaladin brushed his hand against Renarin’s cheek. “It’s going to be all right, Renarin. We’re safe. I’ll protect you.”

“I know you will.” He pulled away. “I’m not some child that needs constant reassurance about the monster under the bed, Kaladin. I am actually a grown man, same as you.”

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be afraid.” Kaladin lay back and stretched himself out. His mouth went dry as he tried to shape his next words. “I’m terrified, Renarin.”

“What?” Renarin didn’t move.

“Never mind.” Kaladin moved to his side, facing away from Renarin. “Go to sleep.”

“How can you be afraid? After everything…”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m so scared.” He clenched his jaw. “You’re going to die, Renarin, and you’re all I have left. It’s not _you_ who needs reassured. It’s _me_.”

He took a deep breath, lying there, tense. Kaladin slowly forced himself to relax.

“Good night, Renarin. Get some sleep.”

A few moments later, eyes screwed shut, trying to force himself to sleep, Kaladin felt a gentle touch on his arm.

“It’s going to be all right,” Renarin whispered.

Kaladin rolled over, and took Renarin in his arms. He felt Renarin’s slow breaths, brushed along his wrist to feel his pulse.

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”


	5. just say you're hurt

They must have reached Alethkar hours ago, but it was impossible to tell just where the border was.

“This is farmland,” Renarin said, pointing towards a distant lavis field. “We must be close to a town.”

It looked rough, like the Shattered Plains, and not like farmland Kaladin knew in the north. But this was Kholin land. He trusted Renarin.

“A town.” Kaladin breathed. “It’s been so long.”

“I haven’t been in Alethkar since I was barely seventeen,” Renarin said. “I never wanted to come back, and yet I’m glad to be here.”

“This hardly looks like Alethkar to me.” He turned his face to better feel the wind. “I’m from the north, by Herdaz. Hearthstone.”

“Hearthstone,” Renarin repeated, wonder in his voice. “The north. So the princedom of Sadeas?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He laughed. A thought occurred to him. “I think I was enslaved once near here. A place that looked like here.”

Renarin’s silence reminded him. Renarin lived the life of keeping slaves, not being kept as one. The mundane realities for Kaladin were horrors for him. You forgot, after spending so long with only other slaves, forgetting there was anything else or a time before.

“Rethan,” Kaladin said softly.  “Brightlord Rethan.”

Renarin swore loudly. “Rethan? Kiralar Rethan?”

He winced. “He had me beaten half to death for trying to escape. Others… were less fortunate.”

Renarin shut his eyes, breathing sharply through his nose. “I’ve _been there_ ,” he said. The words hung in the air, waiting. “Damnation. I liked him. He told me war stories when I was a child. When I finally left for the Shattered Plains, we stopped at his estate and he… and he… he didn’t seem to think I should go back…”

Did he think Kaladin was lying? “That wasn’t the only time it happened.”

“That doesn’t make it fair!” He shied back from the sharpness of his words. Again, Renarin stepped back, eyes growing wide. “I… I feel sick.”

“It’s fine.” He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to remember.

“He _had you beaten_.”

“He’s _lighteyes_!”

Renarin was silent.

“I used to believe too,” Kaladin said quietly. He looked away, to the soft lines of the horizon. “When I was young, I thought people were _good_. I tried so hard to believe, but men like Rethan beat it out of me. This world… it’s built on the idea that those born into power are entitled to whatever they can take. To have that, they have to take everything they can from the rest of us. Steal children from their families to die in their wars. Work slaves to death in their field. To justify that, they have to believe only those like them are truly _people_.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Renarin whispered. He tugged slowly at each cuff of his sleeve. “By now, you think I’d know the worst of powerful men.”

“I never spared a thought for slaves until I became one. None of us thought of the Parshmen until it was forced on us.” The sun was behind Renarin, casting long shadows. “You believed me with no hesitation. I feared you wouldn’t.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He felt half of his mouth twist into a smile. He reached his hand out, brushing against Renarin’s shoulder. “Not you,” he agreed. “You’re better than that.”

A soft blush ran through Renarin’s face. “Oh,” he mumbled.

They walked on, in silence for a few moments.  Kaladin tried to shake himself clear of memories. Faces. Perhaps some of those he’d known were _still_ slaves of Rethan.

“I’ve been beaten too,” Renarin blurted out. “Not to—Damnation—I don’t mean to—”

“Who beat you?” he asked, voice low.

“The regent.” He shied back, eyes on the ground and feet dragging. “When the war began, I was left to represent my family alone, and I… I didn’t represent it well.”

“When the war… You were hardly more than a child.” Kaladin kept his eyes on Renarin.

He shrugged, slowly. “I represented my father. Alethkar couldn’t afford royalty being sick in the throne room or hiding in the hall if anyone spoke to him. It wasn’t even really being _beaten_. Not really. The marks barely lasted.”

“It’s not about the marks. It’s about the shame.” He pulled his hair back, flashing Renarin his brands before hiding them once more. “That’s the strange thing about you, Renarin. Shame is written on your every move.”

“I have a lot to be ashamed of.”

He snorted. “They _made_ you ashamed. We’re more alike than you know.”

“I couldn’t be anything like you. You’re a hero.”

Kaladin looked back, and Renarin shrugged. He brushed hair down into his eyes, head tilted away.

“I was trying to… apologize, I think,” he said slowly. “I’m not sure how that was an apology, but people tend to yell at me when I just apologize.”

“Renarin, your cousin was friends with _Roshone_ and is the reason for everything that has ever gone wrong in my life. You’re so much better than I expect from a lighteyes— there’s no comparison.”

“Elhokar’s a prat,” he mumbled, before looking up towards Kaladin.

“He’s definitely a prat.”

Renarin smiled, softly, and looked away again. “I’m sorry for making a fool of myself.”

“Have you ever thought that perhaps sometimes you don’t make a fool of yourself?”

“Believing that would only be making a fool of myself.” He looked up. “That’s a joke.”

Something warm took hold of Kaladin’s heart. “Maybe you’re making a fool of yourself by constantly thinking you’re a fool.”

“Maybe you’re making a fool of yourself by saying I’m not a fool!”

“Maybe you’re making a fool of yourself by saying I am a fool!”

“And who’s to say you’re not making a fool of yourself saying you’re not a fool?” Renarin’s face split into a grin.

“Who’s to say I’m a fool?”

“I am!” declared Syl.

Renarin grabbed Kaladin’s shoulder as he fell into hysterics.

Kaladin found himself laughing too.

“You’re a fool,” he told Syl, and she stuck her tongue out.

 

~

 

“What if we find people?” Renarin asked suddenly.

“People?”

Renarin gestured to the farmhouses in the distance. “People.”

“Food.”

He took a moment. “Yes.”

They kept on walking, their steps making a path of bare dirt in the grass.

“It’s probably a bad idea for them to know who we are,” Renarin offered.

“You’re the prince.” Kaladin turned his head. “One look at your hair and they know who you are. One glimpse of the forehead and they’ll probably know me.”

“I could put my hood up.” He demonstrated. “I could— I could do an accent. I could imitate Sadeas.”

“Your Sadeas imitation makes me ill.”

“That’s a compliment.”

Kaladin inclined his head. It was. “It’s worth a shot.”

Almighty, and Renarin beamed at that.

“Name?”

“What?”

“A false name. If we intend to pretend we aren’t ourselves…”

“Oh.” He furrowed his brow in thought.

“Wistiow,” Kaladin offered.

“Bless you.”

“No, _Wistiow._ ” He paused, looking off into the distance. “Laral has streaks like yours. It makes me think…”

“I like it.” Renarin nodded. “Wistiow it is. Miran Wistiow. No. Teranal… Zevalen.”

“Zevalen?”

“Zevalen Wistiow.” He looked to Kaladin. “I like it.”

“Zevalen it is, then,” Kaladin said. “Pleased to meet you, Brightlord Zevalen Wistiow.”

“Pleased to meet you as well.” Renarin nodded, and muttered the name under his breath as he walked along.

All the names Kaladin could think of had histories behind them. Not all had the faces of corpses, but each one left a bitter taste in his mouth.

A boy from Hearthstone, a soldier he’d once known, a boy likely still in slavery. The bridgemen, the dead.

They had made it to the edge of the lavis field, and skirted the edges with their eyes on the misty silhouette of a farmhouse. The sky was beginning to darken, and just the thought of sleeping inside again, away from the chill of the wind, made Kaladin’s bones warm.

“How did you pick the name?” Kaladin asked, stepping through a tangle of woody vines that seemed to be grabbing at his ankles.

“The name?” Renarin followed in Kaladin’s footsteps.

“Zevalen.”

“Oh. My name.” Renarin— Zevalen— took a moment to answer. “It’s from a poem. Well, several poems. She was quite in love with Zevalen.”

“Huh,” said Kaladin. He knew no poems, but the thought would be the same if he chose his name from a story, or a song. He thought of a story, one that had occurred to him several times with bitter irony. “Merin.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Merin.”

“The pleasure is mine, Brightlord Wistiow.” Kaladin nodded back, and brushed his hair into his face the best he could. He’d need to trim it soon, to keep it in his face and obscuring the brands. It wouldn’t do much, but he didn’t dare just… go around, letting anyone see him for a slave.

Renarin shifted into his Sadeas impression, and Kaladin shuddered. The walk was a good copy, almost comical on Renarin’s lithe frame.

“Might we ask your hospitality?” His voice made Kaladin’s skin crawl. Slimy. Lighteyes.

“I’ll never understand how you do that.”

“He already thought I mocked him, so I decided to do it on purpose.” He was back to shy, apologetic Renarin. “It seemed… I could only imitate and create a mockery, whatever I intended. I decided I would do it on purpose, and I would do it damn well.”

“I’m amazed you don’t get on better with Shallan.”

Renarin was silent. He shifted back into the walk of Sadeas, demanding attention instead of slinking out of sight.

“What is it?” Kaladin softly asked.

“She wanted me gagged.” A whisper from Renarin. “When we found Urithiru, when the Everstorm— I couldn’t stop screaming and she tried to have me gagged.”

“Storms.” He fell dumb. “She stole my boots.”

“She— what?”

“She pretended to be a Horneater princess and demanded my boots.”

“That is more confusing, Cap— Merin. Not less.”

“I know,” he said. Kaladin took a breath. “I don’t know, I just… I went on patrol and there were these _women_ and one was insisting she was a Horneater princess and talked too fast for me to really think about it. Suddenly she was shouting about how offended she was and how I ‘ _must apology with boots_ ’ and… I gave her my boots. And she turned out to be Shallan.”

“Who’s neither Horneater nor a princess.” Renarin scraped his foot at the ground. “I wish you’d told us.”

“I didn’t think… it mattered.”

Renarin, he was sure, knew the deeper meaning. His lip was pulled against his teeth, a hint of wideness and innocence written on his face. Uncertainty and anxiety. Once you could read Renarin, what had once been imperceptible became shouting.

“I suppose I was screaming,” he said, slowly. “It was a distraction. She was… occupied. I was useless.”

“You endured more than any of us, Renarin.” He slowed to let Renarin match his pace. “You had a right to scream. I think we all do.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Renarin let out a guttural yell. It echoed through the air, chilling Kaladin’s bones. His muscles tensed, feeling the pain in the air.

“Your turn,” Renarin whispered.

Kaladin turned back, reading Renarin’s body. He stood as he had when he’d first asked to join the bridgemen.

He looked back ahead and screamed. He screamed for his boots. He screamed for everything churning inside of him when he looked at Renarin. He screamed for those lost to Urithiru, for his men he’d abandoned. Dalinar, Adolin, Navani, Elhokar. He screamed for Hearthstone and he screamed for those lost to bridge runs, to slavemasters, to the war. He screamed for Tien.

He screamed for himself, lost without them all.

His body felt weak when he’d finished, relaxed and open. A hand touched his shoulder and for once he didn’t jump. He leaned into Renarin, putting an arm around his shoulders too.

“My ears hurt,” Renarin said casually.

“So do mine,” Kaladin agreed.

They didn’t speak of it any further.

 

~

 

When they finally came to a farmhouse, Renarin stepped into Sadeas’ skin again.

“Zevalen Wistiow,” Kaladin said with a nod.

“Merin,” Renarin agreed, returning it. “My… bodyguard.”

Kaladin bit back sharp words about that. He didn’t want to step back into slavery.

Renarin stepped forward and knocked. It was a few seconds before the door was answered. A farm wife, a little tall and round, curly hair escaping her braids in wisps and going gray.

“I am Zevalen Wistiow,” Renarin said, stepping so the door couldn’t shut. “This is Merin, my bodyguard. Might we ask your hospitality?”

The woman looked between the pair.

“We’ll work for our keep,” Kaladin assured her. “All we ask is a little food and some shelter for the night. By morning we’ll be on our way.”

She narrowed her brow, then nodded.

“Of course, Brightlord. Pardon my hesitation— these are dark days and we don’t get many visitors.”

They stepped in quickly and shut the door behind them. The warmth filled the room, slowly working its way through Kaladin’s skin.

“Sit anywhere you like,” the woman said, smoothing her apron. “I’ll see what I can find to feed you. You can stay in the boys’ room for the night. Tomorrow I’ll let Keshi put you to work in the fields for a while. You hear that, Kesh?”

“Yes, mother,” said the eldest girl. She played a clapping game with the younger children at her feet. The rhythms weren’t quite the ones Kaladin knew, but they felt familiar enough.

“We could use some more hands,” said the mother. She looked at Renarin, and hastened to add “Not that we wouldn’t be honored to welcome an esteemed guest like yourself under any circumstances, Brightlord.”

Renarin nodded along, his hands clasped behind his back. “Well, I should certainly hope so.”

She gestured for one of the girls to pull up a pair of seats, offering the seat closest to the fire to Renarin. He took the other, letting Kaladin take the seat of honor.

Kaladin looked to Renarin, but he only watched the floor and folded his hands in his lap.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Kaladin said.

“Oh,” she said, her mind in another world, “it’s no problem at all. I’ll go tell Abbin to fix up two more bowls. It’s only porridge, I’m afraid, nothing to suit a Brightlord.”

“I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,” Renarin said, smiling politely. “We’ve gone weeks without so much as porridge.”

“Behave yourself,” she told the children, in a stern motherly voice. A few of the older ones called back that they would. She hustled off, towards the kitchen and Abbin.

Renarin’s smile faded, and he looked to Kaladin. Kaladin nodded to him, looking out over the room.

Something was off about the children. Kaladin couldn’t place it. Keshi was the oldest, a few years younger than him and Renarin. The very youngest could barely walk.

Kaladin shook his head. There was nothing wrong with the children. They looked just like every child he’d known in Hearthstone.

They played quietly, shooting hidden glances at Renarin. When they caught Kaladin, he smiled politely and waved, and then they’d duck away behind Keshi or the next-oldest girl.

“Hey!” one of the boys called. He pointed at Kaladin. “You got pictures! I wanna see!”

“What?” Kaladin shied back. Pictures?

“Yeah! Pictures on your head! I wanna see your pictures!”

The brands. He meant the brands. Perhaps this boy, chubby legs and missing teeth, was too young to understand, but the others…

Renarin was on the floor before Kaladin could think, down on his knees in front of the boy. “Shh,” he whispered.

“Shh?” the boy repeated. “But I wanna see!”

“Can you keep a secret?” Renarin glanced around. “It’s very important.”

Was he going to _tell_?

“Course I can!” The boy puffed up, pulling himself to his full, unimpressive height. “Not even Keshi knows what I know!”

Renarin’s eyes darted around a few more times, then he leaned in closer. “We’re spies.”

What in Damnation?

“Spies?” the boy whispered.

“Spies,” Renarin repeated with a grave nod. “We’re Veden spies with bounties on our heads. Those pictures on him mean that he’s… got a _very_ high bounty. Because he’s such a good spy.”

The boy looked around Renarin to squint at Kaladin’s forehead again. He ducked and pulled his hair back into his eyes.

“How high?”

“A thousand ruby broams,” Renarin said, with no hesitation. The boy gasped loudly.

“You have to keep this secret so we can finish our job,” Renarin said. “It’s very important. Now, what’s your name?”

“Vash,” he whispered in awe.

“Vash,” Renarin said, “when you’re older, come to Kholinar and ask around for Zevalen Wistiow and Merin, and then I’ll tell you what we were doing here. All right?”

He only nodded, eyes wide. Vash looked up to Kaladin again, then gave an attempt at a wink. Kaladin winked back, and Vash returned to his clapping games with Keshi.

“Spies?” Kaladin breathed when Renarin sat at his side again.

“Children love spies,” Renarin said with a shrug.

A few minutes of silence later, somebody walked in, holding two bowls of piping hot porridge. A young woman, though older than them, her hair pinned up in fraying braids. This must have been Abbin. Her smile was forced and she handed them the bowls with a polite whisper of “Brightlord.”

“Thank you,” Renarin said, and Kaladin gave his thanks in turn.

Abbin gave a more genuine smile, and brushed the hair of one of the younger children as they charged to the kitchen for their own.

Oh, Kaladin realized. Oh. That was what had seemed wrong. Two husbands and fathers were missing from the house. The army, of course. Perhaps there were sons missing too.

Kaladin tried to force those thoughts aside, and only think about his porridge. After their weeks on the road, the porridge was a feast fit for a highprince. Kaladin did his best to force himself not to shovel the lot into his mouth all at once, not to wolf down heaping spoonfuls. He would take his time and savor it. Make it last.

Renarin hiccupped loudly.

A moment later, one of the smaller children giggled. A louder hiccup, a louder giggle. It wasn’t long before Renarin was laughing too, between hiccups.

Kaladin shook his head and gave a few hard pats to Renarin’s back.

“I know!” Renarin hiccupped loudly. “I shouldn’t eat so fast!”

Kaladin rolled his eyes and leaned back. He’d managed to put thoughts of his past aside, and could relax in the warmth. “Well, try not to next time.”

“That’s very helpful.” Renarin wrinkled his forehead, and hiccupped again.

Kaladin leaned back, and relaxed in the moment.

 

~

 

Renarin woke in the middle of the night, and heard voices.

Kaladin.

Kaladin’s arms were so tight around Renarin they were almost a strangle, and he mumbled into his neck. It sounded almost like… begging. No. Kaladin wouldn’t beg. That wasn’t the man Renarin knew.

The man Renarin loved.

“Please,” Kaladin repeated, his voice slurred with sleep. “No, no…” His fingers dug into Renarin’s arm, softly murmuring nonsense into his ear. “Just a kid… ‘s just a kid…”

“Shh.” Renarin moved his arm back, resting it on Kaladin’s hip. “It’s all right, Kaladin. Go to sleep.”

Something in his chest twisted bitterly, worry welling up inside him. Renarin had no idea why Kaladin was dreaming these things. Like the scars he’d seen scattered across Kaladin’s body, this was a wound in him Renarin could never know. He had earned no secrets.

“Please,” Kaladin repeated, and his voice was a child’s.

Renarin pulled him closer, tighter, rubbing at Kaladin’s back. “It’s all right,” he whispered, again. Words felt empty. It _wasn’t_ all right. “You’re safe, Kaladin, I’ll… I’ll take care of you.”

So long ago, now, Renarin’s heart had been stolen by a hero. A man too perfect for words or life, a paragon of every virtue.

That image had faded, and now he couldn’t brush aside the deeper truth weighing in his chest.

Kaladin was scared and broken and lost, just as Renarin. And Renarin… Renarin only loved him more. Renarin ached with love, with the need to heal, to give himself into Kaladin and mend everything broken.

There was so much he couldn’t do. So much he didn’t know.

But Kaladin was still shaking, and Renarin knew nightmares.

It took a moment to steel his nerves. “ _Dream of days when battle calls out for you_ …”

Kaladin had sung once, and guarded Renarin against his terrors. Let this do the same.

“ _Dream of when it comes. I will dream of when the battles are through. I’ll dream that you’ll come home_.”

His mother had sung this, when Renarin was a child who would carry his little wooden swords to bed. “ _Dream, my love, for honor and returning_ .” He’d sung it to himself in the early days of the Vengeance War. “ _I will wait for you_.”

His voice was unsteady, but Kaladin was clinging to him. “ _In your home, the fires still are burning. I’ll dream that you’ll come home_.”

“Renarin?” Kaladin’s voice was quiet.

“Oh. I— ” He moved to pull away, but Kaladin held him tight. Hot hands dug into Renarin’s back. The only sound was their breath.

“You were singing,” Kaladin said, slowly, voice low with sleep.

“You… you had nightmares.”

Silence, again. It was crushing Renarin’s chest.

“Is that the end of the song?”

“No,” he stumbled, “No, there’s more.”

 _Still_ the aching silence.

“Will you finish it?” Kaladin’s grip loosened, but he moved to rest his head on Renarin’s shoulder.

Damnation. Oh, Damnation.

He didn’t dare move a finger. Renarin pulled all his strength and mind together. Don’t think. Just sing.

“ _In your dreams, the war is filled with glory. You are young, for now it’s just a story. And we dream of all the days to come— dream of where you’ll go. I’ll dream that you’ll come home_.”

Kaladin slowly ran his hand from Renarin’s shoulder to his hip. Renarin, with a silent prayer, slowly wove his fingers through Kaladin’s curls to cradle his head.

“Thank you.”  He leaned into Renarin’s touch.

“Are you… all right?”

He hummed softly, running his thumb along the line of Renarin’s hip. “Go to sleep, Renarin.”

“You sleep first.” He put his hand to the back of Kaladin’s neck, and spoke softly. “I’m keeping watch tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled with a soft breath of laughter.

Renarin lay there, Kaladin’s gentle weight on his chest, heat burning through his face.

He kept watch.

 

~

 

They worked in the field that morning, and left after lunch. Renarin carefully picked the dun spheres out, and left them behind on the kitchen table.

“Do you think they’re any use?” he asked Kaladin, gnawing on one lip.

“Those are large spheres for a family of farmers.”

Renarin reached to take them back, and to put out a handful of lesser denominations.

“We need those to survive, you know.”

“This family needs them more.”

“Brightlord,” Kaladin said, stepping forward. “You can’t just give them a little money and fix everything.”

“I can do what I can.” He looked down. “This is my father’s princedom. I’m their prince. It’s my duty to protect these people.”

“You’re not a prince. You’re a refugee. You can’t fix anything just by giving a few families a few spheres. All that helps is your conscience.”

“It’s better than doing nothing!” Renarin shied back, his hands clenched into fists. “You heard Keshi. Her father and brothers taken for the army. _My family’s_ army. Don’t I have some duty to do anything I can to make up for that? I know this is a pathetically small gesture, but it’s the only one I can make.”

Kaladin stepped forward, putting a hand on Renarin’s shoulder. “This isn’t about them. It’s about your guilt.”

“It…” Renarin stepped back, staring at the ground.

“You’re not doing anyone any good by just doing this.” Kaladin gestured to the spheres. “It just makes you feel better. A small, meaningless gesture to absolve you of your guilt.”

“But there’s nothing else I can do,” he whispered. Renarin slung his pack over his shoulder. “What they need is more hands, but…”

“No,” Kaladin agreed. He held back from taking the pack from Renarin, even though he’d worked himself half to exhaustion in the lavis fields already. “We can’t stay. It’s not safe. None of this is fair. But sometimes there really is nothing you can do.”

Renarin hummed, and stepped outside. Kaladin followed him. Without looking back, Renarin set out on the path to Kholinar.

Kaladin followed. He kept his pace slow, so as not to pass Renarin.

 

~

 

The chill was beginning to set into the air as the afternoon passed. They still had their army coats, and Kholin cloaks, but those would be dangerous here in Alethkar. Kaladin rubbed his hands together, hoping the winter would end soon.

“Always is,” Renarin said softly.

“What?” Kaladin asked.

“Nothing I can do.” Renarin slowed his pace, letting Kaladin pass him.

“You kept watch.”

“What?”

He turned back, stopping to let Renarin catch up. “Last night, you kept watch.”

“That wasn’t…”

“It was enough,” he said, softly.

He turned again and kept going. Renarin silently followed.


	6. i'm gonna carry you home

They were nearly to the river.

Renarin was beginning to recognize the land that surrounded them. Kaladin had given him both packs that morning. He watched cautiously for when he would take one and lighten the load, but for now Renarin needed something to do. He needed to keep his mind off Kholinar.

The plant life was beginning to grow lush, a sure sign that just over this hill they would see the Windrunner River.

“You can see Kholinar from the river,” Renarin said.

It was a long time before Kaladin thought of a single word he could say to that. He wanted to tell Renarin that he knew how he felt, what it was to see your home destroyed.

But Renarin knew that.

“Did you play there often?”

“A few times.” Renarin gnawed on his lip, his hands twisting and fluttering in anxiety. He looked at the ground. “I used to have a scar from when Adolin pushed me into the rapids. We never listened when they told us to stay by the bank.” He looked up, taking a deep breath that made his shoulders shake. “We’d build cities in the sand together. Run around chasing each other into the river, brandishing crabs… I wish you could have seen my father’s face when we’d push him into the water.”

“Sounds like you had fun.” Kaladin held back to give Renarin a nod.

They reached the top of the hill. The river was waiting for them below.

Renarin’s breath caught.

It was only a moment before he passed Kaladin, marching down the hill and onwards.  Kaladin paused a bit longer.

Did he see the smoke of somebody’s fire?

 

~

 

They stopped when they reached the banks of the river. Kaladin dug through their packs, searching for their food. There was very little left. They’d have to take more from the river. Fish wasn’t the only sort of animal that flourished there, and there was plant life everywhere. They were in no danger of starving. If they’d been only a few days slower, however…

Renarin stood, watching Kholinar at the horizon. Kaladin had never seen Kholinar before. To him it was just some distant buildings. He didn’t know the home Renarin remembered.

It wasn’t a time to speak. For now he would leave Renarin to his grief. Even if Kaladin cared little whether or not a palace burned, he could understand that Renarin had lost his home. He knew how Renarin’s heart ached.

Renarin took another deep breath, then sat down and pulled off his boots and socks. He rolled his breeches to mid-thigh, and stepped into the river. The water was clear, teeming with fish, and the bottom was lined in smooth multicolored pebbles. Riverspren looped around Renarin’s legs.

“It’s freezing,” Kaladin observed.

“I know.” Renarin didn’t say anything more. He waded out until the hem of his breeches was touching the water, this time watching Kaladin and not the city.

Kaladin portioned out fruit for their lunch, then turned himself to the meat. He’d been sparing with the rations, and now hesitated over increasing them.

“This is the furthest in the river I’ve ever been,” Renarin said.

Kaladin looked up.

“The furthest..?”

“I was shorter, before.” He turned his head back. “It was a long time ago.”

“The deepest, you mean?” These were the shallows— not even a child could swim here.

“Both. I wasn’t allowed very far past the shore.”

“Then how did you swim?”

Renarin paused. “I can’t,” he said, softly.

Epilepsy. Kaladin cursed himself. It was a moment before he laid down the dried meat and pulled off his own boots and socks. He laid them neatly, where Renarin had just left his haphazard.

The water was terribly, terribly cold. The chill climbed all the way up Kaladin’s back. He reached the middle of the river and held back.

There was a smile playing at Renarin’s face.

In another second, Kaladin was in the water. It took him a moment after he hit to realize Renarin had shoved him.

He spluttered in mock indignance, then grabbed Renarin by the ankle and pulled him down too.

They grappled around in the water, kicking and splashing. The fish were long gone.

Renarin pulled himself to the surface, gasping for air. Kaladin pulled him back down. Elbows and knees struck out wildly. Eventually, they pulled to the shore, their gasps halfway to laughter.

“What did you do that for?” Kaladin demanded, lying on the shore.

“I don’t know!” Renarin gasped, still half in the river. “I just— I’m so sorry, Captain— “

“Don’t apologize.” Kaladin felt a laugh forcing its way out. “Haven’t felt better in… I don’t know. Colder, either.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I told you. Don’t apologize.” Kaladin stood, and held out his hand to help Renarin up.

They were absolutely soaked. That was, perhaps, inconvenient, but Kaladin couldn’t find it in him to care.

“I’ll teach you to swim later,” he said, not asked. “When the water’s deeper.”

“Thank you.” Renarin brushed wet hair out of his face.

He could feel Syl beaming at him, and almost feel the warmth of her pride. That didn’t do much to take the chill off him, though. Now their carefree moment was over, the cold water and the cold air froze to his skin.

“Let’s get a fire started,” Kaladin suggested, pulling his shirt off and laying it on the ground.

Renarin blushed red, and turned to the packs to work on the fire. A few moments later, as he arranged their tinder, he dared to look up.

“Kaladin!” Renarin spluttered. “Put your trousers back on!”

“Take yours off,” Kaladin said. He dug around in one of the packs and tossed Renarin the flint. “You can’t just sit around in wet clothes.”

“I certainly can.” Renarin knelt by the kindling and struck the flint, his eyes very pointedly downcast. “And I’d certainly appreciate it if you could as well.”

“Renarin, just take your clothes off.”

Renarin poked at the sparks.

“I promise not to look.”

His ears went even redder.

“I’ve seen plenty of people naked before. You’ve always wanted to be treated like an ordinary soldier. _Take your clothes off_.”

“I’d rather be cold.”

“You’ll get sick.”

“I will not get sick!” Renarin began to glare, but quickly averted his eyes. “Please put some clothes on.”

“I’ll put clothes on when I’m dry.” Kaladin tossed a few slices of dried meat over to Renarin. “Why are you so uncomfortable?”

“You are naked.” Renarin inhaled sharply. “I would prefer to be wet. That’s it.”

“There’s no need to be a gentleman.”

“I’m not being a gentleman!”

“You are being a gentleman.” Kaladin sighed, combing his fingers through his wet hair. “Is it Syl? Are you uncomfortable with Syl seeing you naked?”

Renarin squeaked, and if he could’ve blushed more, he would have.

He hadn’t thought of that, had he? Now Kaladin had put the thought in his head. Damnation.

“Hey,” Syl said, twirling around Renarin’s red ears. “Doesn’t make any difference to me whether you’re wearing clothes or not.”

“You aren’t helping, Syl.” Kaladin sighed and gnawed on his lunch. It was too cold for Renarin to wear wet clothes.

Almighty help Kaladin. He was a bodyguard, not a babysitter. He’d never agreed to convince some storming gentlemanly prince to strip.

Syl moved over to perch lightly on Kaladin’s shoulder, swinging her legs. “It’s because of that whole thing you humans like to do. Naked.”

“No, Syl.” Kaladin lay back, narrowing his eyes at her. “It has nothing to do with that.”

“It _does so._ ” She sighed loudly, rolling her eyes and stretching out. “Just you wait. One day I’ll rub this whole thing in your face.”

“No,” he said, “you really won’t.” Why was she so convinced he and Renarin were attracted to each other? Kaladin certainly wasn’t, and the idea of Renarin being attracted to him was laughable. “Syl, promise Renarin you won’t look if he takes his clothes off.”

“And I’ll make sure Kaladin doesn’t peek either!”

She turned and winked to Kaladin. Kaladin gestured wildly. Why would he peek? It wasn’t as if there was anything odd about men seeing other men naked. Sure, they’d been shy about it when they were young, but…

Renarin hadn’t been a soldier until Bridge Four. He’d been friendless and alone. There had been no time for him to get used to this.

Kaladin looked up to see Renarin’s shirt over his head. When his face appeared, it was red as ever. Once his shirt was put aside, Renarin took his topknot down and shook out his damp hair, knotting his hair tie around his wrist.

“You weren’t going to look,” Renarin muttered, his eyes shyly cast aside.

“Be sure you eat something,” Kaladin said, lying back down. “And refill the water pouch.”

“Probably should have done that _before_ we got all our dirt and sweat in the river…”

Kaladin snorted.

Renarin had been thin, with legs too long for his body when they had first met. Now he was all slender muscle. He had an agile, wiry build, like a spearman’s. His cheekbones had grown a little stronger, and there was a little more of his father in his face.

Syl had to be swatted aside from settling on his nose.

“Well, since I’m not allowed to look at Renarin, apparently…”

“Please,” Renarin called.

Kaladin shut his eyes and turned his other side to the fire. Only the side closest was spared the chill.

“Fish,” Renarin said. “How do you go about catching fish?”

“You’re the one who used to come down to this river.” Kaladin had never fished. He had a vague idea that nets could be of use— perhaps they’d use a bag instead.

“Yes,” he said drily, “you catch a lot of fish by wading in the river, splashing around, and calling ‘here fishie fishie’.”

“Point taken. Find something you can use as a net if you want to catch a fish. It’d probably be more productive to get some vines, though.”

“Right. Of course. Which ones should I pick?”

“Blue, scaled. Careful you grab them the right way or you’ll get the scales stuck in your hand.”

Kaladin lay there a little longer, listening to Renarin wrestling vines from the ground.

He sat up, facing away from Renarin best he could, and took the knife from the pack. There was plenty to eat, and it wasn’t hard for him to gather up plants that would last them a few days, and a few crabs and cremlings.

Kaladin turned, and saw Renarin standing there. His face was quite red, and his half-dry hair was wild. “Grabbed them the right way, like you said,” he said, holding up the armful of vines he’d gathered. “Is this enough?”

“It is.” They went their separate ways, putting away the food they had gathered. Renarin sat by the fire, and combed his fingers through his hair. “Your pants are burning.”

“My pants are— what?” Kaladin jumped, pulling his breeches away from the fire and stamping down the flame on them. They’d been singed at the hem, half a handbreadth gone at the worst of it. Kaladin muttered curses as he knelt down to the packs and dug around until he found another pair. These were formal, stiff and Kholin blue. Part of his uniform as the Cobalt Guard.

“Hey,” Syl said, “no peeking!”

“I wasn’t peeking!” Kaladin pulled his shirt over his head.

“Who said I was talking to you?” Once his head was free, Kaladin looked to where Renarin’s red face had ducked away.

He sighed, swatted Syl away, and pulled on the stiff uniform breeches.

“I’m sorry your pants caught fire,” Renarin rushed out, turning to dress himself quickly.

“Not your fault.” Kaladin sat down to fasten his boots up, then scooped up a handful of river water to douse the fire.

“I take it we’re going to start going,” Renarin said, buttoning his breeches. His ears were _still_ red.

“Get your boots on.” Kaladin slung up both packs before Renarin could even look at them. “We should reach the river proper in a day or two. Shouldn’t be more than a week after that.”

“Feels like we’ve already been doing this for months.”

“It does.”

He nodded when Renarin was ready, and they set off up the river.

Kholinar stayed beside them.

 

~

 

There was smoke just over the hill.

Renarin grabbed at Kaladin’s arm. Kaladin nodded slowly.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.” Kaladin watched the smoke rise, his eyes narrowed. “Could be anyone there.”

Renarin bit back the hope that raised in his chest. It wasn’t anyone they knew, wasn’t anyone from the Shattered Plains. It wasn’t his family, wasn’t Bridge Four. It was just somebody. Probably their enemies.

Don’t hope.

“Here,” Kaladin said, pressing his knife into Renarin’s hand. “Hand me a few spheres. Take some for yourself. We’ll be cautious.”

Renarin beat back his protests before he could voice them, and he dug for the spheres with his free hand. The other gripped the knife, certainly doing it wrong, so tightly his knuckles quickly went white.

“No,” Kaladin said as he took the spheres, “no. See, you have to hold it like this— that way you have control of the blade.”

He placed his hand over Renarin’s, demonstrating the grip. A moment later, satisfied, he pulled away.

Renarin’s heartbeat refused to slow.

“Stay behind me,” Kaladin instructed, gesturing. “If it comes to fighting, your first priority needs to be to run. Go back along the river, and I’ll find you.”

“Yes, Captain.”

He walked behind Kaladin, slowly. It was probably nothing. Renarin knew that. If it was anything, it was danger and fighting. Renarin wasn’t afraid of that. His heartbeat disagreed, or it wouldn’t be racing, but he felt no fear at the idea of danger. Being separated from Kaladin was the worst that could happen.

It was up to interpretation whether that was even a bad thing at all.

There were four people around the fire, under the sky darkening to night. A woman with loose black hair and a fine silk gown danced with a man in a coat of Kholin blue, to the drumbeat tune played by another woman in red. A boy tried to cut in with the couple, a few moments later dancing away with the other man.

“That’s not an army coat,” Renarin whispered. “Servants. They’re servants from the palace.”

It seemed like a dream of another life, to remember the palace. He hadn’t been there for years, and even the Shattered Plains seemed far off now. He couldn’t possibly be a prince. He’d been running at Kaladin’s side all his life.

“That doesn’t mean they’re on your side.”

“It means they’ll recognize me.” Renarin took a deep breath. “I think. I haven’t been to Kholinar since I was sixteen. There are portraits, though. I don’t see anyone who spends time around them looking at me and believing I’m Zevalen Wistiow.”

Kaladin hummed. “You go first, then. I’ll watch your back. They might be loyal to you, but I wouldn’t expect it.”

“Right.” Renarin breathed again as he stepped forward. “Maybe… no. Forget I said anything.”

“They won’t know any more about your family than we do.”

“Of course not.”

Renarin didn’t give himself any more time to think, or to hope. He put his chin up and started walking.

It wasn’t long before the drumbeat stopped, leaving no sounds but the roughness of the river, and the four looked to Renarin. He squirmed under their gaze. “Hello,” he called softly.

“Prince Kholin,” the dancing woman said, stepping forward. She wasn’t tall, with gentle features, graying hair, and wrinkles around her eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “Renarin.”

The servants dropped as one into their bows and curtseys. Renarin felt something come up to choke his throat.

Why would this feel so wrong to him? It should have been the first thing in weeks that was remotely familiar.

“I am Nesarivah, your humble court musician, Prince Renarin.” Nesarivah, the woman with the drum, gave the very lowest of curtsies. Yet she stared at Renarin, her eyes intense rather than demure. There was a red tint to the hair that pulled back from her strong brow in tight braids. Like many musicians, she wore a sleeveless gown and a short glove. Her eyes were lavender. “I would suggest you punish this insolent lad here at once, or—” she grinned wickedly, “perhaps order me to do so?”

“My name is Lunn,” the insolent lad groaned. He was darkeyes, slightly built, his wild curls tied back. “And don’t listen to a word our Nesi says, Prince Renarin. Just because she’s a musician, she fancies herself a Wit.”

“But I am a Wit. Of a sort. I’m my own wit.” Nesarivah grinned. Lunn rolled his eyes with a loud sigh. “And this here,” she said, gesturing to the man who still wore his Kholin coat and was still bowing, “is Lolem. A culinary master, unparalleled by any man… when he has access to an _actual_ pantry, that is.”

Lolem stood, blushing furiously. He was tall and coltishly built, his face slender and his eyes a piercing blue. “What precisely do you expect me to do, madam, when none of you can so much as catch a fish?”

“Catch a fish, of course,” Nesarivah said. She sighed loudly. “And this lovely lady, Prince Renarin, is Ashev.”

He stepped forward. “Ashev!”

How had he not recognized her? Had it really been that long?

Ashev smiled slowly, looking down and clasping her hands. “Brightlord.”

“Ashev.” Renarin grinned. “You’re— it’s good to see you, Ashev. You’re beautiful as ever.”

She looked up, still hanging back from him. “You’ve grown into a man, Prince Renarin.”

“That is what happens to boys, I’ve observed.” Renarin stepped forward again. He could feel tears burning at his eyes. Was it appropriate to step forward, to touch her? He rocked on his feet, back and forth, grinning like a fool. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you, Ashev. I haven’t been gone nearly that long.”

“You’ve been gone four years. I’m sure you had more important things on your mind than a scribe you’d known as a child.” She smiled at him. Had she missed him, too? “I’m glad to see you’re all right, Prince Renarin.”

“And so are you!” Renarin stepped forward and touched her arms. He shied back again. A prince wasn’t meant to have such affection for a scribe. “I missed you, Ashev.”

She kept her smile, stepping back from him. “I missed you too, Prince Renarin. Who’s that man with you?”

“That… oh!” Renarin stepped back, to where Kaladin was withdrawn from the group. “This is Kaladin Stormblessed, Captain of the Cobalt Guard. He is to be treated with the same respect any of you would give me.”

“Renarin, that’s— ” Kaladin didn’t finish his sentence. He nodded a polite greeting, and went with Renarin as he joined the group of servants.

Renarin sat beside Ashev, and Kaladin sat at his other side. _Ashev_! He felt like a giddy child asking to have the histories read to him another time just so he’d have an excuse to see his love. Oh, he had fancied himself in love. She was clever and kind, and tended to apologize for her weeping at sad parts of stories. Best of all, she’d been twenty years older and completely unattainable.

“Where are you going?” Renarin asked. He looked at Ashev. She tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled at him. Had she missed him?

“We’re only going,” said Nesarivah. “I travelled the world once, before I came to the court. We intend to do the same now. A chef, a scribe, and a musician are all in popular demand. We let Lunn tag along, so that we might look our best while wandering the wilderness.”

“He’s a hairdresser,” Ashev explained.

“We’re bound for a refugee camp in the north,” Renarin said. He looked to Kaladin.

“I’m sure there’s a place for you there,” Kaladin said, slowly. “Even the hairdresser.”

“I think we can travel with our prince. Don’t you think so, Lolem?”

“What?” Lolem jumped. “Of course! Anything for Prince Renarin.”

Everything was Brightlord this and Prince that. Renarin turned to Kaladin. He was watching the fire, so Renarin didn’t need to worry about having his gaze met. With Bridge Four, he’d found himself only Renarin, and had fallen a little bit in love with that. He wasn’t sure who he was to Kaladin now.

“Lunn?” Nesarivah sat with her knees up, her chin in her hands. “What do you vote?”

“I’m in favor of more hair for me to do,” Lunn said. “And here I see two fine heads before me.”

Kaladin started. “You’re not touching my hair.”

“Fine, fine… Royal hair will have to do.”

Renarin almost refused as Kaladin had. The words wouldn’t come.

“And I’m in favor of going with the Prince,” Ashev said. She nodded, and smiled at Renarin. He smiled back, feeling the blush creep up his cheeks.

“Then it’s settled, I suppose.” He looked to Kaladin. “If you’re in favor.”

Kaladin paused for a moment. He looked around the camp once more, then reached into a pack. “Renarin and I gathered food earlier. It’s not a fish, but…”

“I’ll take it,” Lolem said quickly, rushing to pick through what they’d gathered.

Renarin tucked the knife he’d been holding into his belt. They were safe now.

“Well!” said Nesarivah, standing and taking up her drum again. “I think a celebration is in order. Our first proper dinner since we laid ourselves at Lolem’s mercy!”

Lunn grabbed Kaladin and had him on his feet in a moment. “I don’t dance,” Kaladin said, pulling away.

Renarin had seen him dance. He was good. “You dance quite well.”

“Yes,” said Kaladin, sitting once more, “but I don’t want to.”

“How about you, Renarin?”

He turned. It was Ashev who’d asked. “Do I dance?”

“Yes.” She stood.

Renarin stood after her, and took her hands. “Decently enough.”

He smiled as she led him into the dance, taking a breath as Kholinar on the horizon caught his eye. No, he would stay focused. He would relax for once. He knew Ashev, trusted her as well as anyone but family before he’d met Bridge Four. This was something right, for once. He would dance.

Kaladin was watching them.


	7. so meet me at the touch of water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for everyone: So things happened in editing and I've added a tag for 'suicidal ideation' because a scene changed and things got more prominent. I'll put a more detailed tw in a note at the end of the relevant chapter.
> 
> In other business, we're going on hiatus for Oathbringer on the 13th. The length and the posting schedule for that will depend. If I have more chapters than one for each day ready to post by that point, would you rather I dump them all before the hiatus or save them?

After one dance, Renarin pulled away.

“How is Kholinar?” he asked.

Ashev pushed her hair behind her ear, a nervous habit he remembered. He’d copied it from her for a while. “Surviving. Half the palace is still standing, to some extent or another.”

“The war?” He sat down, beside Kaladin again. His words were conversational, his mind years away.

“Roion holds the city for now. She heard word of Sadeas’ forces approaching last I heard.” Ashev kept a little distance from him, looking off to the horizon.

Something touched Renarin, and he jumped.

Kaladin’s hand. Renarin looked at the ground, and turned his hand up to hold Kaladin’s. He couldn’t stay silent, not with all the knowledge before him and unavoidable. He had to ask.

“If Sadeas takes the city…”

“Best not to think of it,” she said quickly.

“I suppose so.” Renarin took a deep breath. There wasn’t anything to say, no words he could voice. All he could think of was being a child, in Kholinar, listening to the dispatches of distant battles. The day his father came home, swept both sons into his arms and told them the war was won.

Renarin had seen Alethkar united. Now he was watching it fracture, redrawing every boundary on the map. That shouldn’t matter, not as another Desolation descended upon Roshar, not in the shadow of the Everstorm— but it did. Damnation, it meant everything to see his father’s work destroyed.

At least if Dalinar had fallen, he hadn’t lived to see another take Kholinar.

“Is it done _now_?” Lunn whined. Lolem slapped him away from the fire, and Kaladin and Renarin held tight to each other’s hands.

“No,” said Lolem. He looked stern for several long moments, then took another poke at his pot. “Now it’s done.”

“Princes first, of course,” Nesarivah said as she rose. She bowed graciously, extending a hand to gesture Renarin toward the fire.

“After you,” he said to Kaladin.

“I’m not a prince,” he said slowly.

“No, you’re more. You’re my captain.”

Kaladin wrinkled his forehead. For a moment he looked around, then walked toward Lolem like a wary axehound. Nesarivah followed with Renarin, Ashev behind them.

“Wait your turn,” Lolem said, pushing Lunn toward the others. Pouting, he joined the line.

Kaladin took his dinner and moved back to the sidelines. Renarin leaned in for his, and felt something cold pressing to his throat. Something fell, something broke.

“Nesarivah,” Ashev gasped.

“Our ticket back to life,” Nesarivah said, voice light and casual. With her knife to Renarin’s throat, she turned them both around. “That army we’ve been ignoring we can’t escape? We hand these two over. They _owe us._ We’ll have it made. Now, _Captain_ , will you cooperate or do I need to make this…” She twisted Renarin’s arms behind his back, managing to get a sharp inhalation of pain out of him. “Difficult?”

He could see Kaladin, the broken bowl at his feet. Renarin held his gaze steady, teeth gritted. His own shadow could frighten him, it seemed— this didn’t.

A knife to your throat felt odd. It tickled.

“What do you want?” Kaladin asked, his words rough, and the ground was gone.

This wasn’t right, and now Renarin’s hands itched to go for his own knife— but no, no, he was smarter than that, and if Kaladin was just going along quietly…

“Someone grab some rope,” Nesarivah said. Out the corner of his eyes, Renarin saw Lunn go for the supplies.

“Captain,” he said softly, clenching his fists. Kaladin was staring at the ground, breathing heavily, his arms held out.

Subservient. Looking at it set a fire in Renarin’s chest.

“ _Ashev_ ,” he pleaded as Lunn slowly returned with rope.

She was silent.

They bound Kaladin’s wrists, then turned to Renarin. The knife was gone as Nesarivah moved to hand him to Lunn.

His arm twisted aside, breaking Lunn’s grip. The air pushed against Renarin as he ran, not thinking and not looking back. There was shouting, behind him. They would follow.

When he reached the river, he jumped.


	8. the kill that sent me tumbling

Gasping, Kaladin lay on the riverbank.

Renarin loudly whooped.

“Renarin,” he slowly asked, “why did you jump in the river?”

It was a long time before he answered. “It was there.”

“It was there.” Kaladin didn’t even have the strength to lift his head.

“Well, they wouldn’t follow me. It seemed reasonable.”

“I see,” Kaladin said. “And did it occur to you that you’d probably drown?”

It took far too long for Renarin to say, “No.”

“You can’t swim.” Kaladin rolled onto his back, choking up frothy river water.

“You’d given yourself over to them.” Renarin gave a weak cough. “You— what were you thinking, Kaladin? What could make you do that?”

He was quiet. “Your life.” It was a familiar story, parts interchangeable. Where soldiers and slaves had stood before, there had been Renarin. You couldn’t fight it.

Renarin had.

He didn’t speak, pausing the silence for the occasional spluttering breath. “Is that worth what you were sacrificing?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.

Renarin coughed loudly. Kaladin sat up and thumped his back, trying to help get the last of the river out of his lungs.

“I couldn’t let you…” Renarin coughed hard and sprayed water. “Couldn’t let you give up.”

Kaladin breathed slowly, watching Renarin’s bashful averted eyes.

“You’re making googly eyes,” Syl broke in. “Do you just think Renarin’s cuter when his hair’s all wet or something?”

“Syl!” He waved her away, pulling back as Renarin blushed. “Will you just stop it already?”

“You’re so stupid, did you know that?” She put her hands on her hips. “I mean, Renarin nearly drowned, _you_ completely forgot that you’re a Knight Radiant with a Shardblade— present— and have nothing to fear from a couple of measly bandits…”

“Yes, Syl,” he said through gritted teeth, “I’m very stupid.”

“I'm more stupid…” Renarin mumbled.

“Spheres gone,” Kaladin realized. “Flint, blankets. No supplies.” Not even packs. They could live off the river while they stayed by it, but once they turned north...

“Nothing but the wet clothes on our wet backs.” Renarin sighed deeply. He was slow to speak again. “I'd thought… I _trusted_ Ashev.”

“You two were close?” Renarin’s life before Bridge Four was a cipher. He’d been lonely, forbidden to fight, scorned and outcast. Adjectives, not events.

“I studied history for a time, and poetry. I was expected to enter the ardentia, and I was… bored. Terribly _bored_. I was young. She read me books, and after the war started, letters from Father and Adolin.” He shrugged. “She was more kind to me than others. When you’re young enough, lonely enough… you call that love.”

“Understandable.” Something deep ached in him. Why hadn't they been kind to Renarin?

“I’m not even _interested_ in women,” he added, brow furrowed. “You would think being absolutely symmetrical would tip me off about not being in love with her.”

“Absolute symmetry. How blasphemous.”

“I’m a crippled halfbreed Radiant with visions of the future.” He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’m practically a blasphemyspren.”

“We'd be honored to have you,” Syl said with a nod. “I wonder what Order a blasphemyspren would be, then… the Lightweavers, perhaps?”

“Bonded to Brightness Davar. I can’t think of a worse fate.” Over his shoulder, Renarin wrung out his wet hair.

“Imagine if Amaram were truly a Radiant…” Kaladin shuddered.

“No- dishonorable, cowardly, power-hungry. Meridas Amaram is truly devout.”

He snorted. “That certainly makes you the embodiment of blasphemy.”

“And the embodiment of ruining things.” He ran a hand along the ground, frightening away grass in his wake. “I shouldn't have jumped in the river.”

“I shouldn't have panicked.” He put a hand on Renarin’s shoulder. “We'll make it.”

He hoped so, at least.

 

~

 

The sun was beginning to set.

The river ran beside them, flowing back as they slowly made their way up another hill.

“It'll be a cold night,” Renarin muttered. No flint, no fire. He'd made his bed the second he'd jumped in the river.

“Not so cold there's reason to fear.” Kaladin’s voice was an authority. This was a captain assuring his men. Man.

“There are many reasons to fear.”

“Not enough it's worthwhile. We won’t starve while we follow the river.”

He didn’t ask. “I've never found I needed a reason to fear.”

Kaladin was quiet. “Neither have I.”

They kept walking, each step cautious up the steep slope.

“You just have to learn,” Kaladin said, words slow as his steps, “to say you’ve survived worse. When you know you’ve feared like this before and the fear was wrong… it gets easier.” He stopped, looking to Renarin. “It's hard.”

“But I haven’t survived worse,” he said lightly.

“I think you have. “ Kaladin stood silent. “Know that the only thing that keeps me going right now is that you have endured more than fear says you can.”

He could feel his heart pounding in his throat.

“Ask it of me and I’ll endure Damnation.”

“I know,” said Kaladin. They reached the hill’s top. “I know.”

Renarin looked off into the distance, smoothing down his shirt and trying to think of worthy words.

“Do you see that?”

“See what?”

He pointed to a chull cart in the distance. Slowly, it came to a stop. The figure of the driver stepped out. He walked to the river and knelt to drink or wash.

“Supply cart,” Kaladin said slowly. “For the army, perhaps”

“Supplies,” Renarin said. He looked to Kaladin. “Exactly what we don’t have.”

“She said it was the army of Ialai Sadeas.” Kaladin raised an eyebrow.

“I would say I have higher priorities than her supply lines.” Renarin paused. “Such as whether or not we eat.”

“Banditry,” said Kaladin. He quietly contemplated.

“You know,” Renarin said, “I always wanted to be a bandit.”

“You did?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“In my experience, they want to be princes and Shardbearers.”

Renarin drew a lip into his mouth. “It never occurred to me to want that until it was forbidden.”

He nodded, slowly. “I take it you’re up for a little banditry, then.”

“I would love to commit some banditry with you.” He nodded back. “Let’s go.”

 

~

 

The cart driver had stopped for dinner. He sat by his fire—  damnation, Kaladin envied that fire.

They approached slowly from behind the cart, footsteps delicate and silent. Closer they drew, the lazy chull paying them no mind.

“We’ll need a distraction,” Kaladin breathed, a bare whisper.

Without a word, Renarin knelt down and palmed a rock. He hurled it hard, soaring over the cart and over the fire.

“What… was that?”

“A distraction?”

Kaladin paused. “I was going to ask Syl.”

“Oh.”

Silent, for once, Syl twirled out as a windspren, following the path of the rock Renarin had thrown and blowing off into the distances. They stayed still for a moment, listening for Syl’s rustles and thumps. A mumbled curse word, and the cart’s driver followed her off.

They barely needed to look at each other to launch themselves at the cart in unison. Clumsy in their haste, they lifted up the canvas and scrambled inside. The chull lowed a complaint as Renarin rearranged the canvas behind them.

It was far too dark to see, but Kaladin fumbled his way to feel the stacks of food surrounding them. Meat, soft breads, a bin of lavis. Shelves and shelves of fresh fruits. He searched around, feeling for something to carry these in. Some sort of cloth, if not a bag. The lack of spheres was no surprise, but it was a disappointment.

There was so much food here, even if it was village food and not fine luxuries, he was sure the driver at least had a purse. He ran a hand along the wood of the cart, wondering if it was _right_ to take those. What food the two of them could carry— when the cart was this full? They could use so little of it. So much would go rotten quick, and they had no time to cook lavis.

He knelt down, feeling for Renarin’s arm.

“What is it?” Renarin whispered.

“Nothing. I’m thinking.”

“Oh.”

He paused. “Is there something in your mouth?”

“Bread.” A hand touched for Kaladin’s head, then pushed a ripped chunk of bread to his lips. “Do you want some?”

After a moment, he took the bread. Damnation, it had been a long time. It wasn’t until he’d wolfed down the chunk that Kaladin realized how hungry he truly was. It wasn’t wise to stuff himself now, but it was tempting.

“Careful,” he warned, standing up and crouching again. “Not too much right away.”

“It’s good bread,” Renarin said sheepishly, his mouth full.

It was, and Kaladin gave a grunt to that effect.

A cloth was covering some meat— fresh. His surgeon’s training said it was unsanitary, but he followed his soldier’s training and took the cloth.

Dried meats would last the longest. Dried fruit, then the fresh. Bread was best to eat now.

“Look for a waterskin,” he said to Renarin as he bundled those up. “There might be some beer we could empty out, and use the skin once we leave the river.”

“And until then, we can drink the beer.”

“Considering this is you sober, I’m not sure I want to see you drunk.”

“Wise choice.”

Something creaked and groaned. They froze, and Kaladin’s breath caught. His heartbeat pounded in his throat, as he waited and waited.

Then the cart started to move.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” said Renarin.


	9. we share the scars from our abandon

If they jumped, the only option was to kill the driver.

Kaladin ran his options through his head again. Wait, and risk being caught. Jump, be caught, kill the driver and suddenly be responsible for a cart and a chull. Taking it would be too conspicuous, and leaving it would be too. A delayed supply cart was no cause for a fuss, but finding the driver slain by Shardblade? Ialai Sadeas had an agenda, and she was _smart._ If all you know was that there was a Shardbearer slaying your troops, seemingly unaffiliated with any known group— it had to be Kholin or Radiant.

Either served her purposes well enough. Her search would be unrelenting. The thought of leading her to his home…

Something distracted him. Kaladin tilted his head.

“What are you eating?”

“Not sure,” said Renarin.

He wasn’t sure. Kaladin took a deep breath. “What kind of ‘not sure’?”

“Fruit, sour. I can’t tell what it is exactly in the dark.”

“Why are you eating it?”

“I’m hungry.” There was the sound of Renarin shifting. “If I focus on trying to figure out what I’m eating,” he said, gently, “I won’t panic.”

“Hand me some, then.” Kaladin fumbled to find Renarin’s hand. He passed on a handful of fruits, and Kaladin thoughtfully put one in his mouth.

“Isn’t this truthberries?”

“I thought those were sweeter.”

He thought. “They might just be out of season.”

Renarin snorted. “Truthberries.”

“What?”

“Truthwatcher. Eating truthberries.”

“Oh.” Kaladin took a few more of the berries, chewing slowly. “Sprenarin.”

“What?”

“Like we were saying earlier, about you being blasphemyspren. Spren, Renarin. Sprenarin.”

He breathed a soft laugh.

The cart ground to a halt.

Inside, all was silent but their heartbeats.

“State your business!”

“I bring an envoy from Brightlord Amaram!”

Kaladin heard nothing else.

Amaram.

Amaram.

 _Amaram_ was here. He was vaguely aware of something touching his shoulder, vaguely aware of his own shallow breathing.

Amaram.

His men dead around him. His flesh burning as he was branded. Amaram holding his head proud, parading himself through the warcamps in his stupid cape. He wasn’t here, not now, Kaladin knew that, but somehow he didn’t. He fumbled around, grabbing on tight to Renarin’s wrist. Amaram would take him.

He wouldn’t. Amaram couldn’t have _Renarin._ He could take Kaladin again— there was no fighting that, and each gasp was hollow of air. He would let Amaram win, let him have anything, if it just meant that this time Renarin might live.

Dying would be easier than going through that again.

“Kaladin.” He came to the world, to Renarin’s voice and the cart moving under him. “We’re in the city. I have a plan, but I need you.”

It took another moment before Kaladin owned his body again. “What do you need?”

“Jump with me. We need to steal somebody’s lantern— I need Light. Then we can run.”

The world was moving too fast, and he was too slow. “Steal Light,” he agreed, nodding hesitantly.

Renarin held his hand tight and helped him stand. Slowly he counted, and then they leapt.

The tumble into the pavement was hard, uneven cobbles beneath them and people barely parting for them. Kaladin stood quickly in the noisy crowd. It pulled away from him, shouting at him. He cast his eyes around quickly, looking for a purse.

He caught a glow in the dim twilight, and grabbed blindly for it. The lantern spilled when he knocked it free. He grasped at a few falling spheres and turned around, ignoring offended shouts.

Renarin grabbed the spheres from him and breathed.

Kaladin’s arm was grabbed, and he barely caught a glimpse of the giant red silhouette in the sky before Renarin pulled them down a sidestreet and kept running, resting only when they’d been pulled into a narrow alleyway.

No one followed.

“What— is that thing?” Kaladin asked.

“It’s, ah… a Voidbringer.” Renarin blinked, quite innocently. “Or a vision of one, rather. I made an illusion. I’m not particularly skilled, but I believe it serves its purpose.”

“So everyone in that street thinks that Kholinar has been attacked by Voidbringers?”

“Yes,” Renarin said. “I guess that’s an awful thing to do to them. And quite conspicuous. But…”

“I like it.” Kaladin peeked out of the alleyway. “Once things die down we’ll leave the city.”

“We’re near enough to the palace,” Renarin said. “Give me a minute to get my bearings, and I think I know the way to somewhere we could hide and spend the night.”

“They let you wander the streets?”

“Ah,” said Renarin. “Well, no. They didn’t. I…”

“You… snuck out.”

“School is very _dull_ when you’re a boy who isn’t allowed to fight.” Renarin straightened his collar. “I didn’t do it often.”

“You don’t need to be defensive.” Renarin? Ditch school? The dutiful, attentive student, in every way Dalinar Kholin’s son?

Renarin, who chose to stand with slaves, who’d jumped in the river.

Kaladin put a hand on the back of his neck, trying to stay focused. He couldn’t afford weakness. Amaram wasn’t there. Just one night, and then they would run north, and he would never have to set eyes on Amaram at all.

“Hair.” Panic in his eyes, Renarin clapped his hands to his head. “My hair.”

There wasn’t time for anything truly elaborate. His first thought would have to do, and so Kaladin peeled his shirt off. For a moment, he considered it.

“If we pretend you don’t speak Alethi, it might work. Say you’re Iri.”

“But I’m— ” Renarin cut himself off. “You want to put a shirt on my head.”

“Yes.”

“And walk around the city shirtless.”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head, silent. “That’s so stupid I think it’ll work. No one would expect such conspicuous people of being… anything.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is!” Renarin paused. “Well, no, it isn’t.”

“It’s not the best plan, I know. It’s just the best one we have.”

He stepped forward and held up the shirt. Dutifully Renarin bowed his head, and Kaladin turned it into a serviceable sort of turban.

“This is incredibly uncomfortable,” Renarin said flatly.

“I’m freezing,” said Kaladin. He sighed, folding his arms together. “Lead the way, then.”

Renarin’s laundry basket of a head turned around a few times before he picked a street to follow.

Kaladin clenched his fists as he followed. He thought he saw Amaram in the shadows.

 

~

 

The streets were too empty. Cities were meant to be crowded, Kaladin knew. Not like a town, but like the warcamps, packed and bustling and alive. That first street had been a mob, but this was an empty shell. Rubble lined the streets, skeleton buildings left by riots and Desolation.

It unsettled him, left him to jump at shadows and constantly reach for a knife he didn’t have. He ached to be a soldier, with weapons and armor and an enemy. He was nothing but vulnerability here, in this corpse of a city.

Renarin led him around the corner.

First, he smelled the food. Breads and meats, heat and rot. A pair of children ran past them, tossing their ball with no care in the world. Laundry hung out the windows.

Here were the crowded streets Kaladin had imagined. The streets were in no state of repair, the people in the street wore rags, and piles of garbage burned.

“You knew how to get here?” Kaladin whispered, catching up to Renarin. Everyone in this part of the city was darkeyes, filthy and common. Living in a city kept you out of the lowest dahns, but in name only.

“I wandered to these parts of the city a few times.” Renarin straightened the shirt on his head. “There.”

Kaladin followed Renarin’s nod. The sign was marked in women’s script, glyphs, and an illustration. The glyphs, near as he could tell, were for ‘dance’ and ‘chull’. The illustration seemed to confirm that assumption.

“Tavern,” Renarin said, steering Kaladin to it.

Kaladin dug through their packs to pull out the pouch full of spheres. Then he held the door for Renarin, and followed him into the Dancing Chull.

It was a laughing crowd, and smelled of smoke and sweat and beer and sick. There were a handful of chairs and tables, broken, but most of the men sat on the floor. There were stairs in the back, and a few women sat on them. Beside the stairs, loudly laughing men gambled.

Renarin gripped tightly to Kaladin’s arm, his face darting around.

“And what’ll you boys be wanting?” a woman asked, sliding up to them. Her dress was sleeveless, and left half of her chest hanging out. Rich black hair hung down her back, and she looked at them with piercingly dark eyes and a smirk on her painted lips. She eyed Kaladin’s bare chest.

“A room for the night,” Kaladin said. He kept his gaze on the far wall. “A meal, if you’ve got it.”

“We’ve got it, if you’ve got the spheres.” She held her hand out. There was a glove on it, fingerless. It was a left hand.

Kaladin felt heat rise through his face, and quickly turned to look at Renarin. Did they _have_ spheres? Renarin quickly handed the woman some money— dun spheres, the stolen handful. She inspected each one slowly

“Yeah, these’ll do.” She looked from one to the other. “Second door on the left for you shy boys,” she said, pocketing the spheres. “Keep it down, if you would. Floor’s thin. Tends to put a damper on the other side of our clientele— drunks trying to sleep it off.”

“Thank you, nanha,” Renarin said. He tugged on Kaladin’s arms, pulling him towards the stairs.

“Do you want me to send the boy when it’s time for supper?” She followed.

“Yes,” said Kaladin, “yes, that would be nice.”

“Well,” she said with a wink, “don’t let me keep you two from your business. If you need anything, just ask for Vevi, all right?”

“We will,” Kaladin assured her. Renarin practically pulled him up the stairs. One of the women winked at him, and he could hear a chuckle from Vevi.

The floor upstairs was very thin, and it creaked. The other rooms all seemed to be empty.

Renarin didn’t let go of Kaladin’s arm until the second door on the left was shut behind them.

There was a stained and patched blanket on a lumpy mattress, a stool and a nightstand with a washbasin and mirror, and not much else. The walls were water-stained, the floor was rough and splintered.

Renarin sat on the bed and unwrapped the shirt from his head.

“Stuffy?” Kaladin asked, taking the stool instead.

“What?” Renarin blinked. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.” He handed the shirt back to Kaladin, who laid it on the nightstand. They could steal a blanket tomorrow, he noted, but the logic was distant and hollow.

They were inside, warm, relatively safe— about to get a proper meal. He should have felt at ease.

“You’re still blushing,” Renarin noted. Kaladin felt himself blush more. “I believe you said you had experience with nudity.”

“I do have experience.” His face would catch fire. “Experience with other men. Men who don’t have safehands, or…” He searched for a word. Kaladin didn’t often shy from crude language, but he struggled for delicacy around women and sex. Medical formality would do “Mammary glands.”

“Oh,” said Renarin, red to the ears. He stammered out an apology, and lay back in the bed.

It was a moment before Kaladin remembered Renarin was _not_ a trained surgeon. Enough had been said around the subject of any anatomy for a long time, though.

“The _ground_ is more comfortable than this bed,” Renarin muttered, sitting back up.

“You’ve gotten used to the ground. It happens.”

Renarin moved to the floor, and seemed to find that more to his liking. Kaladin moved to the bed. The stool was short, and his legs were long. It was another long while before anyone spoke again.

“You don’t have to worry about pretending to be yourself right now, you know,” came a quiet voice from the floor. He didn’t understand.

“Who could I be, but myself?”

“Good question, and one I’ve never been able to answer.” Renarin was quiet for a while. “But I’ve been that person too, and if you need to be him right now… that’s all right. Take the time you need.”

He rolled over onto his side, peering off the side of the bed. Renarin had his arms covering his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Meridas Amaram,” he said, softly. “I’m… sorry I wasn’t of more help, before. Did I apologize for that yet?”

Kaladin’s throat was dry. He rolled back, taking a fist of rough blanket in one hand. “It’s not your fault,” he said, voice rough.

“I was so close to breaking you out of prison,” he said, thoughtfully. “Or challenging Amaram to a duel, or… something. Perhaps I should have done _something_.”

“Renarin…” He sighed.

There was something tangled up in his chest, and it was almost soothing. He’d never felt more alone, more worthless than those days. To think— he had been valued. He had been believed.

He hadn’t been abandoned.

“I wish I could kill him,” Renarin said, softly. “Bring you that Blade with his head.”

“Renarin.”

“Sorry, I…” He heard Renarin shift position. “I don’t want you to have to be scared of him anymore."

Kaladin was silent, because what could he say?


	10. and i feel the way that every child should

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Tomorrow's chapter will be the last before an Oathbringer hiatus. I'll be back as soon as I finish fine-tuning the rest of Part One.

The knock came on the door, and Kaladin put his shirt on.

“I’ll stay up here,” Renarin said, more a confirmation than a suggestion. Obviously that was Kaladin’s plan.

“Not alone,” Kaladin said quickly.

He stood, slowly, watching Kaladin’s gaze slip away, a few shamespren petals brushing past him before they vanished.

“Then what are we going to do about…” He gestured to his hair. He hadn’t been so self-conscious about it since the last time he’d seriously considered dye, perhaps a year ago.

Without speaking, Kaladin bundled a filthy blanket off the bed. He looked to Renarin, a question in the way his head tilted.

“It smells,” Renarin said, “but not as badly as my brother.”

Kholinar kept making him think. He was twelve years old, chasing axehounds through slum streets. Then, Adolin. Adolin brought him home, and no one else ever knew.

The next day, Adolin had given Delivan Ethar a black eye. Delivan, son of one of the most trusted advisors. Renarin’s age. Now he had a wife, and a gambling problem that had threatened to ruin his family.

The blanket was draped over his head, and Renarin wrinkled his nose. Still, the weight of it offered some comfort. He could keep his mind off the smell and the sordid history of it if he shoveled food in his mouth fast enough. It wouldn’t be hard. His feast in the cart had been a reminder he was hungry.

“Stop me from eating too much,” he said, a little lightly. “I don’t think you want to deal with me being sick tonight.”

“I don’t think I want you to be sick at any point.” He tied a final knot and nodded, satisfied enough at least.

“I don’t want to be sick either,” said Renarin. He tried not to breathe too hard. “We’d best hurry up if we want food, and not…”

Kaladin nodded, leaving Renarin with no need to find an appropriate finish to his sentence. He walked slowly to the door, and held out his hand before opening it.

The way he escorted Renarin down the hall and the stairs, into the smoky and noisy den of drunkards below, was almost more suited to a formal ball. A delicate hand on his arm, a slow and almost elegant procession.

Renarin tried to keep his mind clear, staying focused on nothing but Kaladin’s touch. He crossed his other hand over to hold Kaladin’s wrist, to urge a tighter grip. His eyes were shut, and Kaladin took the hint. Renarin mouthed a wordless thanks. He needed something to keep him steady, to keep from being lost in the haze of voices and smells and constant motion, of low and fiery light flickering out his vision.

“I found the line,” Kaladin murmured, squeezing a little tighter to Renarin’s wrist. That was some sort of order, at least, in this chaos of moving bodies. Slowly they inched closer, and Renarin could focus on the sound of watery stew poured into bowls.

They inched a little further forward.

“Captain?” bellowed a voice. A Horneater voice.

“Rock?” Kaladin dug his fingers in. “You’re— Rock?”

“I _am_ Rock!” Rock laughed loudly. “And you are you! With— who is this?”

Renarin fumbled a hand up to bare some of his face, just enough that Rock could see him beaming.

“Of course!” He laughed again, and clapped them both on the shoulders. “What is it you are doing here? This is a foolish place for you.”

“I could ask the same of you,” said Kaladin. “We— we should stop holding up the line.”

Agreement was growled.

“Here!” said Rock, pouring stew into bowls. “It is not my best, but you will eat and I will find someone else to pour out the rest.”

“We’ve got a room upstairs,” said Kaladin. “We’ll see you there.”

A warm bowl was pressed into Renarin’s hands, and he ran his thumb over the rough edge. Their hands full, he was left peeking from beneath his draped hood, trying to keep his eye on Kaladin.

“Ready?” he asked, nodding at Renarin. Renarin nodded back in turn, angling his head to see better.

He reminded himself to keep breathing, lifting the bowl up to his nose. Strong, spicy— Rock’s cooking, certainly, if it wasn’t a bridgeman’s meal. Just a few more minutes to focus, before he could relax in the quiet. (A relative word, but that was _enough_.)

Slowly he followed Kaladin, weaving through the throng.

“Hey!” called a voice. “Hey, you… you got really long eyelashes.”

Renarin fought the urge to look down. Too loud.

“Pretty boy, I’m talking to you!”

“Thank you,” said Kaladin, and picked up his pace. Just a few more feet to the stairs. Just a few more.

“You got,” slurred the voice, “you got a stupid pretty face. Yeah. You’re stupid pretty.”

“I get that a lot.” Kaladin shouldered his way through a dancing couple, nodding at Renarin to follow.

Then stew went flying.

“What in _Damnation_?” Kaladin yelled.

Renarin dropped his bowl in turn, clenching his fists and trying his best to scan the crowd. There was too much, it was too busy. He couldn’t tell who was an enemy.

“I hate your stupid pretty face!” screamed the drunk voice. It was a man, a bald man with his unsteady fists up.

“I hate your face too.” Kaladin backed away, stew spilled all over him. He held his hands out. “Just let me get past.”

“No,” snarled the man. “I’m gonna… wanna break your pretty nose.”

“It’s been through worse.” He spread his arms wide. “Listen, this isn’t a fight you’re going to win.”

The man jumped on Kaladin anyway. Renarin tried to watch the wrestling match, tried to jump in, but bodies were crowding him on every side. His head was spinning, his vision nothing but flickering blurs.

He had to— he had to— Renarin turned and ran. The stairs shook under his stride, and he fumbled at the door handle before slamming it open.

There was a man inside. No— only a boy, years younger than Renarin himself, small-framed and darkeyed.

“Kholin,” the boy hissed. Before Renarin could duck out the door, the boy had him by the blanket. It had fallen from his head in the fight, in the run. The boy tugged it away, leaving Renarin bare and honest. “How dare you show your face here, Kholin?”

There was nothing Renarin could say. So, he said nothing.

Renarin stood straight. He wouldn’t run. He couldn’t.

“Not even going to try to justify it,” the boy muttered. He stared at Renarin, half a snarl on his face. “Lost my family in the riots. Couldn’t be bothered to care, your lot, could you?”

Renarin was frozen. There were no words. The boy was watching him, waiting to see what he’d say. His mind was empty of words, only thoughts and concepts swirling around that he could put no name to. Renarin stared down at the floor.

“That’s right.” The boy shoved Renarin’s chest. “You don’t got anything to say for yourself. There’s no defending what your family did.”

Renarin breathed sharply. Kaladin would come in any moment, and he would have this boy with a Shardblade to his throat in an instant.

“Should kill you where you stand,” the boy muttered. “No better than you deserve. Vevi’d have you handed off to Queen Roion.” He spat her name. “Why don’t I? Can you give me one good reason to let you live?”

It seemed years since he’d tried to leave the spheres behind. An eternity to think on his guilt. Anything he could say would mean nothing to the boy. It would only be enough to let him ignore the guilt. Renarin forced a word out. “No.”

He didn’t look up. He shut his eyes and thought of Kaladin.

At first Renarin felt nothing as the knife went through his gut, but the searing pain followed, and he crumpled to the floor.

 

~

 

Kaladin saw the boy, and then he saw the blood.

He reacted without thinking, moving like a soldier but thinking like a surgeon.

In one motion he pushed the boy away. Kaladin knelt by Renarin’s side. So much blood. Kaladin shoved his hands in it, tearing away Renarin’s shirt to feel at the wound. Slit down the middle, like a slaughtered pig. He needed to bring Renarin to surgery quickly, but what did he have here? Nothing. He had nothing.

“Get out,” he snarled at the boy, “or I’ll burn out your heart.”

The boy ran, and Kaladin moved his bloody hands to feel at Renarin’s neck. Pulse was weak. He needed _something,_ spheres or needle.

“What happened?”

Kaladin turned. Rock, in the doorway, eyes focused and face pale.

“Spheres,” said Kaladin. “Needle and thread, if you can get them— and hot water. Spheres. Spheres first.”

Rock turned, and Kaladin went back to his patient.

“Come on, Renarin,” he muttered, feeling the wound. The surgeon had taken over, leaving the sobbing boy within. This wasn’t just blood loss, this wasn’t a simple wound. His mind ran over surgical procedures, rhythmic chants of injury. He knew each organ, each injury, how they could be healed and how they could kill.

“Here,” said Rock, shoving a purse into Kaladin’s hands. It wasn’t very full. He emptied the spheres into his filthy hand, and each one he held to Renarin’s lips, watching for the glow and praying.

There was no more stormlight.

Almighty, let it be enough. Let Renarin live.

Would he lose Renarin there? His punishment, for daring—

Renarin’s pulse was stronger.

The sick, heavy pit in Kaladin’s chest eased into only nausea. There was a wound down his abdomen still, but shallower, and the horrible paleness had faded. Pushing aside the ache of his relief, Kaladin forced himself to inspect the wound once more.

Renarin would live.

He would still need more stormlight, or else surgery, but he would live.

Infection, of course, Kaladin reminded himself. Barring an infection. Never get too much hope. It would be taken from you. Everything would be taken from you. What was this for, if not to remind him of that?

Still he took Renarin into his arms, gently brushing his cheek and smearing blood on it. Kaladin held Renarin too tight, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head too tenderly.

He looked up to see Vevi.

“Kholin,” she said, stepping into the room. “Will he live?”

“Will you have him killed?” Kaladin wouldn’t let Renarin go. He would never let Renarin go.

“Fair question. No.” She knelt beside Kaladin. “Thought about what I’ll do. Still not sure. But I ain’t killing him.”

“That you are not,” Rock grumbled. He couldn’t hide the waver in his voice.

“Yes,” Kaladin said. He tucked a strand of golden hair behind Renarin’s ear. “He should live.”

“Good.” She leaned in. “Storms. Just a kid. Which one is this?”

Kaladin looked up at her. “Renarin.”

“Renarin.” She stood, looking down at Kaladin. “I want him out of here as soon as possible. I stopped my boy, but Lady Roion’s coming for the prince soon. When can you move him?”

Kaladin gently lay Renarin back on the floor. “I need a handful of spheres still,” he said. “Lit. Not dun.”

“So it’s true what they say?” She snorted. “Well, I’ll be. You must be Stormblessed, then? Never believed in you. If the Radiants were going to return, it was going to be in folk like the Kholins. Not a darkeyes slave.”

“You’d think.” Kaladin stood. “Will you be safe?”

“Oh, perfectly. Losing a good cook, I suppose…” She looked up, and Rock nodded. She sighed. “Shame, that. Still, it’s your head you should worry about. Me? I’m left with a good story to tell the drunkards. The prince and Stormblessed himself came here… rented this very room…” She looked around, folding her arms. “Damnation of a tale, that. Could move the price up.”

He grunted, and she went. Kaladin looked to Rock and gathered his thoughts.

“I will get my things,” said Rock. “Vevi is a good enough woman. Her word, she will keep it.”

Kaladin turned to the washbasin. The pitcher was full enough. He took that and the washcloth, and knelt beside Renarin once more.

He started by cleaning Renarin’s face, pressing as softly as he could. Renarin hardly stirred, and made only the softest sounds. Kaladin tried to ignore the fear rising through his throat, and pulled off Renarin’s shirt. The wound still ran through Renarin’s abdomen, gaping open, and Kaladin was delicate. On the wound itself he used his fingers, and not the cloth. While Renarin would heal with stormlight and not time, thread and bits of fabric could still cause an infection.

Then there was nothing to do but wait, and Kaladin was afraid. There was nothing to fear, and yet he was still afraid. Renarin seemed so small, now, so delicate and fragile.

It was like seeing Tien dead again.

Kaladin shut his eyes and calmed himself by listening to Renarin breathe. Renarin would live. For now, he hadn’t failed.

In fear of this, he’d been ugly in the Unclaimed Hills. Caring about Renarin would only lead him here, a pit in his stomach and desperation in his throat.

Yet he found he didn’t regret it.

Kaladin stood at the sound of footsteps. Vevi held out a small purse. “Here,” she said. “Heal the prince, then get out. My boy lost his head and started shouting. You’d have to be thick as all ten fools not to know Lady Roion’s men are on their way.”

“Thank you,” Kaladin said. He nodded, and knelt once more to hold the spheres to Renarin’s lips.

Renarin’s eyes opened slowly, darting around the room.

Vevi gave a whistle. “Kalak’s breath. He glows.”

“Kaladin.” Renarin grabbed his shoulder tightly. “I… I… I’m not wearing a shirt.”

“You were stabbed.”

“I was wearing a shirt when I was stabbed.” Renarin looked around, and his grip on Kaladin tightened. Stormlight fell softly from his mouth as he breathed.

“It’s all right,” Kaladin said softly. He brushed his fingers along Renarin’s face. “It’s going to be all right.”

“Not if you don’t get out of here fast,” Vevi said. “Pleased to meet you, prince, and sorry I haven’t given you a welcome as befits royalty.”

“Well,” said Renarin, “I think that would be the stabbing.”

Why wouldn’t Kaladin’s panic fade? Renarin was in his arms, alive and safe and well, his fingers gouging into Kaladin’s shoulders.

Kaladin stood, helping Renarin up. Rock moved into the doorway, holding a bag dwarfed by his size.

“We’re going?” Renarin blinked. He stood unsteadily.

“There are soldiers coming,” Kaladin said. He grabbed a blanket and used it to cover Renarin. There was no time for elegance. “We’ll run, and then…” And then? “I don’t know.”

“Oh.” Renarin reached out, to take Kaladin’s hand for a moment. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Right.” Kaladin nodded to Rock and turned to leave. “Thank you,” he told Vevi again.

“Go out the back way,” she said. “I wish you the best. And if your family should come back to power, Brightlord…”

“I don’t think we will,” Renarin said. “Thank you, ma’am.”

He followed Kaladin, a few steps behind as they went down the stairs. The women stood, whispering to themselves, eyes fixed on the three. Every eye in the tavern that wasn’t too drunk to see had turned to them.

They walked slowly. Too slowly. Kaladin reached and took Renarin by the shoulder, not sure if the gesture was to protect Renarin or to assure himself. There was still an eternity left to go down the stairs.

No one spoke.

A few people moved out of their way.

“Hey,” some man slurred, “hey, you prince!”

“Be quiet.” Kaladin turned, moving from Renarin’s side to step into the man’s face. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say to him. That goes for all of you.”

“Captain,” Renarin half-whispered. “Captain, it’s all right. Let’s go.”

“It’s not.” Kaladin looked over the crowd, almost disgusted. With them, or with himself for not sympathizing with them? They had every right to hate the Kholins.

Renarin’s hand fumbled for Kaladin’s shoulder. “Don’t defend me from this.”

He turned away. “Let’s just get out of here.”

The door opened.

The man who entered wore a military coat. A captain. He barely stepped in, looking straight for Kaladin and Renarin.

Renarin shed the blanket over him, and stepped forward, chin high but legs unsteady.

“Brightlord,” the captain said. A smile played on his face. He was lighteyed.

“You’re here to take us to Highlady Roion,” Kaladin said.

“Queen Roion, to the likes of you.”

One of the men spit into the captain’s face, and was slapped for his trouble.

“She ain’t no queen,” another man jeered. “What’s she got to be queen of?”

“I’ll excuse that.” The captain grit his teeth and extended a hand towards Renarin. “For the time being. Will you come quietly, Prince?”

Renarin stepped back, standing even with Kaladin. “If I refuse?”

“We will force you out. It would be no great tragedy to have another fire amongst the scum.”

Renarin didn’t hesitate. “If I do come quietly, what of Kaladin and Rock?”

“Your associates will be brought to the queen as well.”

Kaladin stepped forward, slightly in front of Renarin. “Then we’ll come together,” he said.

“How fortunate that you are both reasonable men.” The captain bowed, and gestured to escort them.

Kaladin looked back, to Rock. He gave one nod to his captain, and followed.

He took Renarin’s hand as they walked out into the street.

“I’m sorry,” Renarin whispered.

The streets were barren now, all the people scattered away at the sight of the soldiers in formation around the three.

“It’ll be all right,” Renarin said. His voice was soft, but strong. “I’ll look after you. I swear it, Kaladin, that I won’t allow her to hurt you.”

Silently, he held Renarin’s hand tighter.

“And I’ll protect you,” he said, the words seeming hollow.

They meant little, with Renarin’s blood still on his hands.


	11. it sure was a grand waste of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suicide discussion tw for this chapter. Hover over this text for details.

Renarin saw the window of the palace, and his heart raced.

The palace had many windows, of course, but this was the grandest. Once, it had been the only thing that could make his father seem small. As they reached the top of the winding path up the hill and drew closer to the gates, the shapes of the window could be made out.

He remembered watching them make alterations to the stained glass, shifting the map as boundaries of princedoms changed. The window’s map stood now just as he had left it. It pretended nothing had changed, when he could already see damage to the palace walls. Patches of crystal in the path they walked had been stolen. Pillars stood uneven, wall carvings defaced.

They passed a burnt hall on their way to the gates.

Renarin tried to ignore how he knew this place. He shut his eyes, trying not to cling to Kaladin. It was hard. All he wanted was to be a child again, hiding behind his mother’s skirts, or in his father’s arms, or hanging off Adolin’s side.

No. He had to be strong.

Kaladin still held his hand.

He kept his eyes shut as the gates opened and they began to walk through the palace. He knew what was meant to be in each room, and couldn’t bear to know it was otherwise.

The soldiers stood aside. The captain held the door.

Renarin pulled away from Kaladin, held his head high, and walked in.

“Prince Renarin!” Mevarem grabbed him by the arm and showed him to a chair. He sat, looking to his side at the mosaics on the floor. Shalash as a child. “I’m so grateful to find you, alive and well… with what happened at the Shattered Plains, I’m afraid we all thought the worst for you.”

“Kaladin saved me.” Renarin feared he mumbled. He tried to speak stronger. “Have you heard anything at all about the rest of my family? Or Bridge Four?”

“Who?” She took a chair beside Renarin, reaching her ring-covered hand to touch his shoulder. He pulled away. “No, I haven’t heard anything about the other Kholins. I’m sorry, Renarin.”

He looked away from her. Kaladin stood a short distance away, watching the room like a caged animal. Rock was at his side, arms folded. Renarin stood and pulled out the chair. “Kaladin.”

It took a moment before Kaladin heard. He looked to the chair Renarin offered, and moved to sit. Renarin pulled out another chair, and Rock took that. He waited a moment before he took his own seat, beside Kaladin.

“Brightness,” said Kaladin.

“Ah. You would be Stormblessed, then?”

“I am.”

“Is it true what they say about your eyes?”

“Yes. They’re dark.”

Renarin reached, and took Kaladin’s hand. He wasn’t sure whether out of compassion, or a need for reassurance. He wanted to say something, to speak up, but he could think of nothing. So he only stared at the table, and felt Kaladin’s fingers digging into his hand.

“Ah,” Mevarem repeated. “And… the Horneater?”

“I am Numuhukumakiaki'aialunamor.”

Mevarem paused, looking to Renarin.

“That is his name,” he said with a nod.

She looked to Rock again, frowning, then broke off. “I am so glad we managed to find you. I shudder to think of what could have happened to you, alone.”

Kaladin’s grip tightened. “Yes,” Renarin said. He was a Knight Radiant. He wasn’t defenseless. And alone? He’d been with Kaladin, always.

But he was too afraid to speak. Not that he was afraid to stand up, for himself and for Kaladin, but he was afraid that he would speak poorly. He would stammer. He would get confused. He would sound like a complete idiot.

So Renarin was silent. Renarin always was silent.

“I’ll offer you the little safety we can,” Mevarem said. She reached across the table to touch Renarin’s shoulder, and look him in the eyes. He would not look away. “You will be protected here, Renarin.”

“Kaladin and Rock?”

She smiled, and pulled away to touch her rich emerald earrings. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to leave out your… companions.”

“I’m very tired,” Renarin said, before she could speak again. “I was just stabbed. Where do you intend us to stay?”

“Oh,” said Mevarem. “Of course. Do you need a surgeon..?”

“Knight Radiant.” Renarin stood. Kaladin and Rock followed suit.

Mevarem met his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Guards!” she called, clapping as she stood. “Escort these three to free rooms. See to anything the prince could ask for. I shall breakfast with our visitors tomorrow.”

“Good evening, Brightness.” Renarin slipped into a bow. This was easier. Soon he could rest. “I will gladly join you for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Ah. Right.” Kaladin grunted. “Me too.”

“A meal I did not have to cook,” Rock said thoughtfully, “I do not know what it is I feel about that.”

“I… look forward to speaking with you tomorrow, Prince Renarin.” She bowed in her turn. “I hope what we have managed to establish here will suit you. I’m sure you must be glad to be once more among civilized folk. Have a good night.”

“Until the morning.” Renarin clasped his hands together, turning to follow the guards.

They were prisoners. Not guests.

The guards led them to separate rooms, and Kaladin and Renarin parted without a glance or a word.

 

~

 

Renarin woke, and found himself no longer on the Shattered Plains.

Adolin, his coat soaked through with blood. His father’s proud figure, crumpled to the ground. Drehy, Sigzil, down in the blink of an eye. A thin sword thrust through Navani’s ribs, a gasp, and then no more.

When Renarin turned, Kaladin sliding down the wall, the glow fading from his eyes as the blood streaked behind him, gasping his last.

Lies, lies, the same old lies. As a child he’d been fearless, but Gavilar’s death— and then his father and brother had been _gone_. He’d learned to ignore the certainties that gripped him. The fears he couldn’t fight were to be shut away. The one he could— Kaladin was alive. Kaladin was just down the hall. Kaladin was—

Kaladin wasn’t safe. Renarin had brought him into this cage, brought him to Mevarem, and she would have no kindness for him. He would be of no use to her, because Kaladin was strong and would never return to slavery. She’d do her best to have him killed.

And it was all Renarin’s fault.

The fear was wrapped around his throat, crushing his chest, pounding in his ears. Come on. He knew how to deal with this. He knew how to force himself placid, to pretend the fear wasn’t real until even he could forget. That was needed, now. Not to fall into despair, but to stay useful.

All these fears would just make him worthless.

“Kaladin’s alive,” he whispered to himself, in the hopes that forcing himself to speak would make it seem real.

All he could see was Kaladin’s bloody face and empty eyes. And Renarin, doing nothing, unable to save him.

The fear, the certainty of it, was crushing him. His breaths refused to obey when he tried to count them, coming only in shallow and choked gasps.

He would just open the door, and watch Kaladin sleep long enough to see him breathe. He wouldn’t even be woken.

If he saw Kaladin alive, then Renarin could breathe.

He pulled the blankets away, doing his best to remain in control. The night was cold— instead of his clothes, they had given him a flimsy nightshirt. One of the blankets went around his shoulders, and the cold of the floor under his feet kept him grounded.

Renarin stepped slowly, an arm before him. He stumbled around a bit before finding the door, and opened it with agonized caution.

There was just enough light in the hall that his eyes ached. Renarin pulled the blanket up over his head and shut the door behind him. Kaladin was only a few steps away.

He opened the door.

Kaladin lay in the bed, breathing, and alive. He was so alive. Renarin spent a moment with his head wedged in the crack of the door, letting himself breathe.

He stepped back to shut the door.

“Renarin?”

Kaladin was sitting up, blinking and bleary-eyed.

“No,” said Renarin, shutting the door.

He stood there in the hallway, the blanket falling from his shoulders, and took a deep breath.

The door opened.

“Renarin,” Kaladin repeated. He blinked, eyes still heavy with sleep. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Renarin was silent, for a long while, pulling the blanket over his head and letting it hide Kaladin from his sight. “Yes.”

“Me too.” A moment later, Kaladin straightened out Renarin’s blanket, not uncovering his head. “You’re safe.”

It was almost a question.

“No.” Renarin pulled away. “We’re prisoners, and— we can’t be out here, she doesn’t want us talking to each other. We’re less dangerous separated.”

“So we don’t let her separate us.” Kaladin stepped back into his room. “Just for a moment. Stay.”

He couldn’t say no.

They sat side by side at the end of the bed, the door shut behind them. There was nothing said, nothing done. The room was silent.

Kaladin was alive. Renarin could breathe again.

“The bed’s too nice,” Kaladin said. Renarin nearly jumped.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It’s so… soft. I’d nearly forgotten what softness felt like.”

The softness grounded him. It always had. Renarin reached down to tightly grip the softness of Kaladin’s blankets. “Perhaps we should sleep on the floor,” he said, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. “It’s not right, though. We’ve been sleeping under the stars.”

“And together,” Kaladin said abruptly. “Since we left, we’ve hardly been apart.”

“I suppose we haven’t.” Renarin allowed himself the slightest rocking back and forth. The day had been long as a lifetime. “The nights are cold.”

“It helps,” Kaladin said, looking down at his hands, “with nightmares.”

He took a long silence before he answered Kaladin. “Yes.”

A hand touched Renarin’s. It was only a touch. It was enough.

“I’ll get you out of this,” said Kaladin. “I promise.”

“I’m the one who should be promising to protect you.”

“I’m your bodyguard.”

“You’re my _captain._ ” Renarin pulled away, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. “I don’t feel I… I don’t _want_ to have that power over you.”

Kaladin pulled further away. He looked at Renarin, a vacant stare up and down him. His jaw was slightly slack, his lips gently parted.

Quite foolishly, Renarin went on talking.

“I’d like to think that, as Radiants, we could be equals. But we could never be. You’re so much more than me in every way, and I swore my loyalty to Bridge Four. I swore it to _you_.”

“And I promised to protect you.”

“You made a promise to my father.” Renarin bowed his head and shut his eyes. “None of that means anything anymore.”

“And Bridge Four does?”

“I chose to follow you. I’ll always choose to follow you. Even to Damnation, I would follow you.”

“I chose this too,” he said quietly.

“You were a slave.” Renarin cringed. “I’m sorry.”

“Fair enough,” Kaladin said. He ran a hand through his hair. “I still chose this, though. Your family. I think you’re worth choosing. Even, like you said, to Damnation.”

“My family,” said Renarin, his eyes shut so hard he could see blurs of color. “Not me.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes.” He pulled his arms over his head. “Being a Kholin is nothing but a liability. It means nothing. It bestows me with nothing, no inherent worthiness. What value I have, if I have value at all… it must be as only Renarin. It means nothing to be Renarin Kholin.”

“You’re Bridge Four too.” Kaladin reached out his hand, gently brushing against Renarin’s back. Renarin leaned into the touch slightly, but there was no more. “Like you said. That doesn’t mean the ones who follow me, Renarin. It means the ones I defend.”

He took Renarin’s hand, gently, as if to ask permission, and turned Renarin to face him. He still looked down, Kaladin’s hands softly gripping his arms.

“It’s you and me. I need to protect you. I have to keep you safe. Not because I promised your father, because you need me. I could never let you be hurt, Renarin. You’re all that’s left.”

Renarin’s mouth ran dry. “I’m not helpless, and I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity. I promise you, it’s not pity.”

“Then what is it, Kaladin? What could possibly possess you to go on tolerating me?” He didn’t dare pull from Kaladin’s touch. “I’m no use, and I certainly don’t deserve to be what’s left of Bridge Four. You have so many better things to do. What keeps you tied to me, if not _pity?_ ”

“I care about you.” His fingers dug into Renarin’s upper arms, and pulled him closer. “You’re no less worthy than the others. Your kindness, your spirit… your strength.” He paused. Renarin looked up, and found him moving his lips, searching for words. “You say you’re no use, but your illusions saved us.”

“That wouldn’t have been necessary if I hadn’t jumped in the river.”

“That was smart, and that was brave.” Kaladin paused. “It’s what I would have done.”

He pulled a lip into his mouth. “You were… I couldn’t stand to see you allowing them to… for me.”

Kaladin’s hands fell away, and he looked at the floor. “You saved me,” he said, words too light.

“I’m the reason you were in danger at all. And now… I’m the reason Mevarem Roion found us.”

“Maybe you’ll save us again,” Kaladin said, and it almost sounded as if he dreaded it. His posture straightened, and he turned to Renarin again. “That’s why you… You could have taken a scullery boy. He only stabbed you because…”

“I let him.” He looked away, digging his hands into the blankets. “Yes. I thought… I thought what I always think. The best I can hope for is a good death, and everyone will be better off when that happens.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Kaladin took his hand. “Will you make a promise with me, then?”

“What promise do you ask?” Anything. Anything for Kaladin. That was his duty, what he had chosen so long ago. Even if Kaladin asked him to live.

For Kaladin, he would live.

“If we try to fight our way out,” he said slowly, moving his hand to Renarin’s leg, “Blades or not, they have the power, because they have Rock. If we can’t find another way— if it’s staying here or condemning Rock… Then you’re right. Then we’ll die. Together, with all the dignity we can.”

Renarin silently ran his thumb along Kaladin’s hand.

“But if we make it out, then we keep going as long as we can.” He pulled back. “No matter how long it takes, no matter how hopeless— if we make it out of here, we stay alive together.”

Renarin looked down, gripping the corner of the mattress. “I swear it,” he said, “on my family and our honor. Do you?”

With a deep breath, Kaladin took Renarin’s hands again. “I swear.” He looked up. “By Bridge Four.”

“By Bridge Four,” Renarin echoed.

There was nothing more to say. Hollow and awkward, Renarin made his way back across the hall.

He slept on the floor.


	12. say a prayer and light a candle

There was a knock on Kaladin’s door.

He’d been awake for a while, unsure of what he was meant to do. He’d been waiting for some sign, something like the knock. Now it had come, and hardly put him at ease.

“Come in,” he called, sitting up. Was he meant to be properly dressed? Instead of the offered fine silk nightshirt, he'd slept in the shirt he’d been wearing for weeks, leaving the stiff formal breeches on the floor. He had shaved, though, and he had tied his hair up.

The door opened. Renarin.

Renarin was dressed in fine silks, stiff and crisp and vibrant. His coat was a little short at the wrists, his trousers baggy. He wore kohl around his eyes, and Kaladin thought his cheeks and lips might have been painted red.

He was beautiful.

“Would you mind some help getting ready for breakfast?” Renarin tugged at his cuffs, stepping into the room. “I thought you might… I thought I’d come and help you get ready. Advise you on etiquette.”

“I’ll probably just embarrass you. Most likely you should breakfast the highlady without me.” Nobody could learn etiquette over the course of one morning. Kaladin, with his outspoken nature, couldn't learn it in a year. There were many little courtesies expected of the Captain of the Cobalt Guard, and Kaladin knew none of them. His mind had been on truly important matters.

All an excuse, to keep his mind off how subservience made him sick to his stomach.

“No.” Renarin sat beside him. Was he wearing perfume? It was a very sweet smell, heady and sickening. “I could never be ashamed of you. I want you to come, Kaladin. I… I’m afraid I need your strength.”

It was a long moment before Kaladin spoke. “I’ll come.” He stood, and offered Renarin his hand. “What do I need to know?”

“Watch what I do at breakfast,” Renarin said. He took Kaladin’s hand as he stood. “Captain of the Cobalt Guard likely has a slightly different set of rules than a Highprince’s second son, but I’m afraid that can’t be helped. We enter…”

“I stand behind you, at attention.” He knew a guard’s place, at least.

Renarin shifted to formal posture and bowed. Kaladin followed.

“Good morning, Brightness Roion,” Renarin muttered, extending his hand as if to take hers.

“If she acknowledges me, I say good morning as well.”

“You don’t have to wait.” Renarin turned his head, breaking his posture. “The previous captain never did. You don’t either.”

“A darkeyes shouldn’t speak to nobility without first being spoken to.”

Renarin paused. “You’re Captain of the Cobalt Guard, and shall be treated as such in Kholinar.” He sat back down and shut his eyes, holding his hands out to touch a remembered table. “You sit to my left. She and I have to eat before everyone else so you don’t need to worry about knowing which utensil to use. Er…” He looked up. “I’ll do most of the talking, I suppose.”

“I can shut up.” Kaladin paused. “Believe it or not.”

“I suppose it will all depend on Mevarem.” Renarin sunk into the bed. “She… I don’t know what she’ll want. Obviously what’s best for her is to keep us— two Radiants, and a Kholin. Radiants could tip the balance of the war... I saw the guards outside Rock’s room. You’re right, she’s holding him hostage against us.”

Kaladin tried to put himself in a political mind. “So she’ll be trying to force us to fight for her?”

“Maybe. If she’s smart. If _I’m_ smart. She might be thinking of something else entirely.” He sighed and shoved his hands to his face.

“I trust you on this.” Kaladin sat beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve made it very clear that I am a storming _idiot_ in these situations, who gets himself put in prison. You can’t possibly do worse than I would.”

“That’s not very reassuring.”

“I can do reassuring if we survive this.” Kaladin stood, and held his hand out for Renarin. “Come on. I still need your help, unless you want me attending breakfast looking like this.”

“Right.” Renarin didn’t take the hand as he stood. “Er. You’ll want to bathe, I suppose. I let him give me the perfume, as we’re incredibly sweaty and smelly, but it is very strong so…”

“It is strong.” Kaladin smelled the air again. The sweetness made him dizzy. “Then, I must smell just as strong.”

“I think I prefer the sweat,” Renarin said, half under his breath. “I’ll find some clothes while you do that. If I could just— ”

He took a moment to compare their sizes, measuring with his hands and holding them against Kaladin, then himself. Kaladin was only a little taller, but his shoulders were broader and his arms and legs weren't so gangly.

“I should be able to find something that fits,” Renarin said, nodding. “I can’t promise it’ll be the slightest bit comfortable.” He tugged at the collar of his shirt.

“I’m not surprised.” Kaladin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Then?”

“We wait for her to summon us.”

“Of course we do.”

Renarin made a soft sound of agreement. “Of course.”

They called the servant. He enjoyed the bath, and was ashamed of that. Kaladin didn’t linger.

Renarin took less than half a glance at Kaladin, wearing nothing but his drawers, before shoving a pair of red silk trousers at him and casting his eyes down.

“They’re too big,” said Kaladin.

“How big?” Renarin didn’t look up.

“It would stay up with a belt, but I’d look like I’m smuggling minks in my trousers.”

Renarin wordlessly shoved another pair at him. These were a deeper crimson, and they fit a little too tight. Afterwards came an undershirt, a long tunic, a vest, and a jacket. Renarin tied a scarf around his neck, constantly asking if it was comfortable.

Kaladin tugged at it. It wasn’t.

“It’s too long,” Renarin muttered. He stepped back and inhaled sharply, looking over Kaladin. “Adolin, come help…”

He stopped. The words had been spoken without thinking. Before Kaladin could offer a hand or a word, Renarin had turned away and was digging through his pile of clothes.

Renarin’s suit was mostly of purple, and what he’d chosen for Kaladin was in red. There was a conspicuous absence of blue, the color of the Kholins.

Renarin stepped forward, and wrapped a sash around Kaladin’s waist. His hands fumbled on the knot, so Kaladin pressed them aside and finished their work.

“Right,” Renarin said, stepping back. “I suppose then we’d best— since you’re dressed— I suppose— ” He gestured towards his eyes.

“I’ve never worn kohl,” said Kaladin.

“Adolin…” Renarin turned his head away and down, his hands tapping a frenzy against his leg. “He… he taught me. He liked— there wasn’t really a point since it’s not as if I was— I’m not particularly attractive— but…”

“You are particularly attractive.”

“No.” Renarin looked up, and shook his head. “No.”

Had he really said that? He could hear Syl laughing at him already. Kaladin cleared his throat. “I take it, then, you never, uh… boys?”

“Boys…” Renarin looked to the ceiling and shrugged. “Boys. No, I never… You? Boys?”

“I… boys.” Kaladin coughed, and tried not to blush. “The army, I’ve… There are boys in the army. Weren’t you painting kohl on me?”

Renarin froze. “Right. Sit, close your eyes, hope.”

The brush was stiff, the paste cold. Kaladin winced at the first brushstrokes on his eyelid.

“I know,” Renarin said. His strokes were slow, short, and methodical. Kaladin bristled. Why couldn’t he just get it over with quickly? “Relax your face. It’ll be done sooner if you do.”

He relaxed, as best he could, but it still took too long. Renarin held up the mirror to his face.

Kaladin grunted. “Good job.”

He could feel it stuck in his eyelashes, but supposed Renarin would get angry if he tried to wipe them and possibly smudge the kohl.

Renarin sat by Kaladin’s side, head turned away to study the wall.

Syl floated by Kaladin’s other shoulder, chin on her hands.

“Be quiet, Syl,” he grumbled. He looked away from Renarin, still thinking of the way his eyes looked in kohl, of dozens of other small ways Renarin was— he admitted it— beautiful.

“You’re both very pretty,” she announced.

“Thank you,” said Renarin.

“I guess,” said Kaladin. “Thank you.”

She smiled, insufferably pleased with herself. When wasn’t she?

Kaladin felt he should have said something. Told Renarin the things he wanted to tell him, the things he thought Renarin ought to hear.

But he didn’t.

The door opened.

“Good morning!” boomed Rock.

Kaladin turned around. Rock… Rock was dressed finer than either of them. He was freshly shaved, his hair neatly dressed. Somehow he had found clothes in this palace to fit a seven-foot-tall Horneater, a fine silk suit and a cape hanging behind him.

“You look like a king,” Renarin said. He put down the kohl brush and stood. “I didn’t expect you would be coming with us this morning. The guards—”

“Are behind me, being nuisances. Pah! Not useful guards like we bridgemen.” Rock glowed with pride. “Did you think I was so easily left out? I was not thinking you were so airsick!”

“A king,” Kaladin said, thoughtfully.

“Well, I do have experience with them.”

“A Horneater king.” He looked to Renarin.

Slowly, Renarin smiled. “Brightness Davar.”

Kaladin smiled back. “We’ll steal Lady Roion’s boots.”

He turned to Rock, who already had a keen look in his eye.

 

~

 

At least red wasn’t a particularly good color on Kaladin, because he was far too handsome in kohl.

Renarin tried very hard not to look at him, and to keep his mind on the task at hand. He had to stay in control of every muscle in his body, keep his hands still and ensure he made every expected facial expression. What would he say? How did he want to seem, to her?

No matter what he said, even if he spoke perfectly, she already thought of him as nothing more than an idiot, and that truly was all he could ever be. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t save Rock and Kaladin.

Anger and desperation swirled through Renarin’s mind, quickly giving way to despair. There was no hope. He’d been cursed by the Almighty himself. Why else would the greatest honor have been stolen from him? Why else would he be here, now? Why else would his mother have died— and Gavilar, and Jasnah, and _the Almighty knew who else?_

There was nothing else, so still he prayed. He prayed for his father, he prayed for his brother, and now he prayed with all his heart for Kaladin. Save him. Anything could happen to Renarin— kill him, break him, keep him here to do Mevarem’s will, anything so long as Kaladin was saved. He knew that with the pure clarity of love. No doubts and no regrets, if only Kaladin were safe.

Prayer had never been enough. It hadn’t saved his family, and it wouldn’t save Kaladin.

Please. Please, just this once. Not for himself, but for Kaladin.

“Are you all right?” Kaladin’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“I can’t do this.” Renarin took a deep breath. “I— I…”

What could he say? The only thing in his head was fear.

“We just have to stick to the plan.” Kaladin nodded to Rock, who was flanked closely by a pair of guardsman. He walked with the poise of royalty. “King Rock can handle things.”

“Right.” Renarin took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, Renarin.”

With a deep breath, Renarin stepped forward and opened the door.

Smile politely, not mocking and not distracted. Make eye contact as she bows, but don’t stare.

“Chana’s havah, you actually look like civilized people.”

Polite nod. Take her hand.

“Good morning, Brightlord Kholin.”

“Good morning, Brightness Roion.”

She was styling herself Queen. He shouldn’t have called her Brightness. For all Renarin’s failings, _that_ was on purpose.

Mevarem only smiled, because Renarin was an idiot after all.

“Come,” she said, “sit.”

She didn’t acknowledge Kaladin or Rock at all. Renarin nodded to the table. Rock sat first, then Kaladin. Only then did Renarin take a chair.

Renarin forced his hands to stay still, folded in his lap.

A man sat across from him, beside Mevarem. Renarin knew him before she spoke.

“This is my general,” said Mevarem, “Kiralar Rethan.”

“Prince Renarin,” said Rethan, with a nod. He was a pleasant enough man, about Dalinar’s age but looking younger. “It’s an honor to see you again.”

“Brightlord Rethan,” he said, slowly. The words were crem in his mouth. He looked to Kaladin, to his white knuckles. “And— you’ll know Captain Stormblessed, of course.”

“Captain Stormblessed? No, I don’t believe we’ve made an acquaintance.”

Renarin took a breath to steel his nerves. It was this place, making him feel like a _child_. “He spent some time on your estate previous to his arrival on the Shattered Plains.”

“I am sure,” said Rethan, “I would remember such a distinguished visitor.”

 _How_ dare he forget? Or— was he lying? Suddenly Renarin had clarity on what he wanted. An apology. He would demand an apology, now. It was improper, and that made it impossible to refuse.

“Prince Renarin!” Rock broke in. “You have not introduced me yet properly to our companions!”

His focus broke. He sat back in the chair. “Oh, of course. Brightness, Brightlord, this is King Numuhukumakiaki'aialunamor.”

He pronounced it poorly enough that Rock grimaced, but better than most Alethi could manage. After all, Renarin was a child of two languages.

“King?” asked Mevarem. Her eyebrows attempted to reach her hairline.

“Yes,” said Rock, “in the language of you lowlanders.”

“You didn’t mention that last night.”

“I am mentioning it now!” He smiled. “Ah, Lightness, it is good to be among civilized people.”

“Ah,” she said, “yes. It is.”

It was three courses of painstaking focus before they spoke again beyond pleasantries.

Renarin dropped his fork with no ceremony, staring down at his plate. “Are we prisoners, Brightness?”

“What? Why, what would make you think that?”

“It…” Politically— she wanted to be queen— the Knights Radiant— he could be the only surviving Kholin—

Renarin’s sentence trailed off, cut short by his throat clenching.

“You’re guests,” she said, in the bright tones people used for children. Renarin bristled, hands in tight fists, nails digging into his soft palm. “You have full hospitality here, and may freely go anywhere in camp.”

“But not leave it,” said Kaladin.

Mevarem was silent.

“But not leave it,” Renarin repeated.

“Why would you wish to leave? Brightlord, just yesterday you were injured. It simply isn’t safe out there. So many wish you dead, or prisoner… I would be remiss in my duties to the crown if I were to allow its heir to be in such danger. Not to speak of the visiting king— I could not bear to see foreign royalty out there in such dangerous times.”

“Prisoner.”

“You are safe here, Brightlord.”

Breathing was getting harder. “Prisoner.”

Mevarem stood, the chair screeching against the floor. “I,” she said, “am only doing what is best for you and for Alethkar. I did not need to offer you this hospitality. I could have had you _killed_ if I was thinking selfishly.”

Renarin shut his eyes and forced himself to stand. To look up. “Knight Radiant.”

“Not the king,” she said. She nodded, and the guards still flanking Rock’s chair put their hands to their swords.

Renarin backed away, breath rasping through his throat. He was losing his mind again. Staring uselessly at this floor, he’d once memorized all the scenes of Kholin lineage.

He’d been trapped here for nearly four years. He would not be trapped again.

Mevarem was touching his shoulder. Renarin ripped himself away. No. Stay in this world, Renarin.

“You are safe here, Prince Renarin. Everything is all right now. You’re not alone anymore.”

She touched him again, and he forced himself to let her.

“I know,” she purred softly, “you must have been so frightened when you were running. You’re with friends now, Renarin.”

“Friends,” he said softly. He had been with Kaladin, always.

“Yes. That’s right. I’m your friend. Everyone here is your friend.”

She pulled away, thank the Almighty, but then tilted his chin up until he looked into her eyes.

“Do you think you can get used to this and calm down enough that we can have a nice, civil dinner tonight and discuss things?”

He said nothing. It felt like eternity, forcing himself to stare into her eyes.

“Right,” she said with a sigh, standing back up. “Rethan, come with me. We’ll have to consider what our guests will mean for the future. Renarin, when you feel capable of discussing things like the civilized man I know you are, I’m sure you’ll be able to find me. Take as long to adjust as you need to. In the meanwhile, your Majesty, you are welcome to an audience at your leisure.”

It took too long for her to leave.

Kaladin knelt before Renarin.

“Do you want some water?” he asked softly.

“Water.” The glass was pressed to his hands, and Renarin drank sloppily.

“How is it with you, my friend?” Rock asked, quietly. Renarin shut his eyes, breath sharp and ragged in his chest.

“Take as long as you need,” said Kaladin.

Renarin didn’t know how long they were silent, as he warred for control of his mind. Eventually, he had enough control to stop rocking, and to lie down on the cold floor.

After that, he felt ready to speak.

“I suppose,” he said, “I proved you wrong.”

“What?” asked Kaladin.

“You said I couldn’t possibly do worse than you.”

“You’re not in prison,” Kaladin said, moving to kneel beside Renarin. He gave a reassuring smile. “You’re still doing better than me.”

Renarin couldn’t argue with that.


	13. when everything's made to be broken

Kaladin’s sleep came fitfully, slipping through dreams that were only fears and memories.

The fears were only memories with the names changed.

He wrestled himself free of a knot of blankets, and buried his head in a pillow. Renarin had shown him around the palace, and they’d found no plan of escape. Guards constantly lurked just behind them, and Mevarem had ensured no spheres be left in their path.

Trying to shake those thoughts aside, Kaladin pulled himself out of bed, tugging uselessly at the fine silk nightshirt. They’d taken his clothes, and he couldn’t feel like himself. He needed—

He needed.

Kaladin paced the room a few times, smoothing his hair back from his forehead and breathing unsteadily.

“Syl.”

“I know.” She sat on his shoulder, swinging her legs. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

“Say it anyway. For my peace of mind.”

Syl smiled, serenity and mischief. “Go see Renarin,” she said. “It doesn’t make you any stronger to be on your own, Kal. Go. Talk to him.”

“I’m not strong enough.” Blood weighed his chest down. “All we have is borrowed time, and…”

“And I thought _Renarin_ was the one who saw the future here.” She tapped on his shoulder. “Stop being so afraid of the future you can’t do what you need right now. Going to him tonight isn’t going to change what will happen, but you’ll feel better. Focus, Kaladin.”

He took a deep breath. It was getting bad again. The past repeated, and the Wretch was never too far behind him.

The door opened quietly, and he stepped into the hallway. Oil lamps gave unsteady light, and the gouges where looters had stolen precious metal from the wall looked like living wounds.

Renarin opened the door first.

“Oh,” he said, stepping back. A blanket was draped over his shoulders, his long legs bare beneath the nightshirt.

“Were you— uh…” Kaladin looked away, brushing hair into his face.

“I was going to the roof.” Renarin shifted around. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Yes,” said Kaladin, far too quickly. He paused, cursing everything he could think to curse. “If you want the company.”

“I do.” He was quiet. “I hate being alone in this palace.”

They didn’t talk as Renarin led him down twisting hallways to a staircase. The luxury, even damaged and singed, made Kaladin’s skin crawl. The palace was one ostentatious sculpture, the size of Hearthstone.

He looked to Renarin, taking an oil lamp down from the wall. This was _his_ childhood— sterile luxury. Kaladin couldn’t picture children in this treasury, not carefree and muddy boys running and playing.

“The view is wonderful up there,” said Renarin, nodding to the staircase. “You can see eternity in the horizon.”

“Oh,” said Kaladin.

They climbed the stairs slowly, an endless spiral that wasn’t flight. His soul itched for Light, to be a part of the sky once more. The roof would have to do.

Once they reached the top, Renarin opened a door and stepped out into the stars.

Three moons were scattered in the rich velvet of the night. The shapes of Kholinar beneath them were like a frozen ocean.

They sat at the edge of the roof, the lamp carefully rested to hold open the door.

Kaladin leaned out into the night, cold wind on his face and in his hair. He could breathe.

Renarin was far more cautious about the roof’s edge, his legs folded under him instead of poking out into emptiness. By starlight, you almost couldn’t tell the color of his eyes.

“This is where I grew up,” Renarin said, and their silence shattered. “That hallway we passed through, with the paintings of the Heralds. Adolin and I used to play there. We used to attack the king himself with our toy swords.” He lifted his chin. “He was only ever Uncle Gavilar to me.”

Leaning more into the night, the wind played with his loose hair.

“I know it’s small, it’s spoiled, but to see the palace this way…” With a soft exhale, he leaned back. “I can’t stop thinking about how happy I was here, once. Things keep coming back to me. Lullabies my mother sang— the day my father promised that I would never be too big for him to carry— games played with Adolin, with Jasnah, with Elhokar. Before we were Radiants or kings or… When we were nothing but cousins.”

“You can’t escape the memories,” Kaladin said, speaking slowly and trying not to think, “but the damage is creeping into them. It taints them.”

“It feels like any moment now, I’ll wake up and be six years old again.” Renarin shook his head, as if to banish the thoughts. “But it’s gone. All of it. Everything I loved has been ripped away.”

He shrunk back, looking at Kaladin.

“In Hearthstone,” Kaladin said, gripping the cold stone beneath him, “when we were children, my brother liked to carve. One day he ran to me— as fast as his legs would carry him. There was a little wooden carving in his hands. He asked me to guess what it was.” Nomon and Mishim were close together in the sky that night. “I looked at it, and I said to him… it was a chull’s butt.”

Renarin laughed, and Kaladin breathed in the night.

“What was it meant to be?” Renarin asked.

“Me.” Kaladin pulled his legs onto the roof and turned to him. “I felt terrible… and he started calling me Chullbutt.”

Thoughtfully, Renarin tilted his head. “I see the resemblance.”

Kaladin looked to the moons again. “Hearthstone is gone,” he said, “and my brother… Tien. His name was Tien. They took him for the army, and I followed, but… I couldn’t save him.”

Had he ever told _anyone_ of Tien?

Renarin was silent.

“Now you tell me a story,” Kaladin said.

After a moment, Renarin turned to him, staring at the roof below them. “I don’t know what story to tell.”

“Tell me something happy,” he asked softly, putting a hand on Renarin’s knee.

He was quiet for a while, face twisted in thought. Then, he relaxed, putting his own hand on top of Kaladin’s.

“We were supposed to have nursemaids,” he said, slowly, “and nannies, and so on. In practice, I would follow my cousins around, and it was up to _them_ to keep me out of trouble.”

Kaladin nodded along. King Elhokar, the babysitter.

“One day, Jasnah was watching me, and I had an incident. With a pie.” Renarin paused, eyebrows raised high. “I had to take a bath, of course. She did her very best, and managed to get me into the tub… And then I climbed out of it and ran right out the door.”

“You ran through the palace naked.”

“I ran through the palace,” Renarin agreed, “ _wet_ and naked, with my cousin Jasnah chasing after me. My cousin… you haven’t met her. There has— _was_ never… a more dignified woman than my cousin Jasnah. Her dress was stained with pie and then wet from my struggles. We ran down gilded halls, her yelling at me to stop… and I ran straight into the hall where our fathers were holding a meeting with the allied Highprinces.”

“So you’ll be naked in front of Sadeas, but not me?”

Renarin glowered. “Quiet, Chullbutt.”

He was quiet.

“The entire room was staring at us,” Renarin continued. “Then, my father stood. He picked me up, and I sat on his lap for the entire rest of the meeting. As his adviser, he said.”

He could picture it perfectly. Dalinar looking around for anyone to question his decision. Young Renarin, all round face and messy hair, making grave comments as the men around him discussed politics.

“When the war began, I was left a prisoner in this palace,” said Renarin. He looked up, directly at Kaladin. Behind him the sky was growing pale. “Trapped by youth and feebleness. My only use was to be the perfect prince, and… I’m sure you’ve noticed how far from that I am.”

“You’re something better.” He leaned in, moving his hand to Renarin’s shoulder. “A good man.”

His head tilted away from Kaladin’s eyes. “I would have been beaten for what happened at breakfast. I try to think of the few happy years, as much as it aches, because I can’t escape the palace I left.”

He paused, running his hand down Renarin’s arm. “How often?” Kaladin whispered.

“It wasn’t always beatings,” Renarin said.

“Not just those. All of it. How often did they punish you?” His words were soft, his hands steady on Renarin.

“I don’t know.” His words were rough and quiet. He played idly with Kaladin’s hands. “I don’t remember well enough to say. I didn’t _want_ to remember.”

One deep breath. He pulled Renarin in and held him tight. It was a moment before he felt Renarin relax into his arms, leaning his head against Kaladin’s.

“I wish I had been there,” he said, looking into the dawn. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“That’s just how it is.” Renarin mumbled into his neck. “I should have been better.”

He moved a hand to the nape of Renarin’s neck. “You were already better than all of them. You didn’t deserve it any more than I deserved slavery.”

Renarin rested his forehead on Kaladin’s cheek. “You really think that, don’t you? You think… there’s nothing wrong with me.”

“There isn’t.” He pressed his face against Renarin. “The sun’s coming up.”

“Wisest to hurry back to our beds and look well-behaved.” He turned his head, looking to the sun. “Let’s watch it.”

Exhaustion lined every inch of Kaladin’s bones. He rested on Renarin, trying to relax as pinkness saturated the horizon.

It wasn’t enough. Seeing the sky like this was nothing but a taunt. He was powerless. The cost of any action would be Rock, would be the innocents of a war-torn city. The cost of stillness was a slow death— for himself, and for Renarin.

Kaladin watched the dawn, knowing that somewhere on this horizon hid Meridas Amaram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was in the middle of working on this one when I took my Oathbringer break... that was interesting.
> 
> Anyway, for the rest of Part One, we're on a Monday/Wednesday/Friday release schedule! I still have to polish up the very ending so I'm not sure if it's 18 or 19 chapters yet, so I'll update you on that with Chapter Fourteen.  
> Part Two, which is shorter than this one, should materialize pretty quickly! No ETA for the third and final part, though.


	14. did we mean nothing at all?

Why didn’t Kaladin scorn him now?

Renarin had spent a few days now shut in his room, for the most part, desperately trying to think of ways they could escape. Sometimes he’d make his mind up to talk to Mevarem, but every time fear or anger overcame him.

It wasn’t even talking to her that frightened him. It was walking past the servants that drove him to shutting himself away once again.

Kaladin came to check on him from time to time, and they spoke about nothing. They had no great epiphanies on how to escape, and every other thought Renarin had could never be said. They would sit together in silence, perhaps build up the courage to touch hands and say an assurance or two, and then Renarin would be left feeling yet more alone and trapped.

They could fight their way out, so easily— but the _cost_. Renarin knew, deep down, he was capable of that ruthlessness in any other city. Not here, his home, dying Kholinar. Careful timing and they could perhaps save Rock, a risk a general’s son would take.

Then their loud escape would burn the streets of the city. Mevarem had been very clear about that. It was a price Kaladin would never accept.

That left them with being quiet, being as silent as possible, and it was choking Renarin. This was a person he’d once believed he would never again pretend to be. Now he wore the silence of obedience again, weighing him down.

The palace was chains for him. After tasting rationed hints of freedom, his soul was dead here.

He paced around the room a few more times. He would do something. Fear of doing the wrong thing strangled around his throat, but he would do something.

Renarin straightened his jacket. Out the door, down the hall, into the courtyard. That was all he had to do.

It would be enough. He had survived on less.

 

~

 

Kaladin was outside, spending his morning in spear kata. He’d talked some guardsman into lending him a spear, and practiced in the middle of a courtyard— out of the way, but in plain sight.

Renarin took a deep breath, and undid the collar of his shirt. He turned around and walked until he found a group of guards. Off-duty, sitting around a barrel of rainwater and joking around. They grew silent as Renarin approached.

“Pardon me,” he said, “Might I have a spear?”

“What for?” asked the one furthest to the left, a boy around Renarin’s age and a full hand shorter. “Gonna fight Stormblessed over there?”

“You tried to fight Stormblessed yesterday,” said the one in the middle, grizzled and fatherly.

“Oh. Right.”

The fatherly guard tossed his own spear to Renarin. Yes— that was Captain Tanav. Never the most esteemed among the guards, but a fixture of the palace. “Don’t mind if you break that one, Brightlord. Getting to be time for a replacement.”

“Thank you,” Renarin said. His catch was clumsy, and the guards snickered as he did.

Renarin slowly weighed the spear in his hands, trying his best to ignore them. He’d trained eagerly with Bridge Four. Usually he’d sparred with Rlain. Despite his lack of experience, he’d been a teacher to the Listener.

He knew several grips, but chose the most basic for today. Renarin stepped away from the group and swung the spear around a few times, feeling for the weight and balance. There was a curve to compensate for, and automatically Renarin shifted himself into a base kata.

“Good form,” said Tanav, nodding approval. The men around him seemed surprised.

“Thank you,” Renarin repeated. “I’ll do my best to return this to you.”

“Like I said, I need a new one anyway. Keep it, if you fancy it.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t have put it in the hands of such wet crem as you if I didn’t mind losing it— no offense, Brightlord.”

“Not so wet as you think, perhaps.”

He walked slowly up to Kaladin, knowing eyes were on him. Yes, he would make a fool of himself, and they would laugh as Kaladin knocked him on his rear— if Renarin was even that lucky.

Some had told Renarin he wasn’t afraid to make a fool of himself, and it had been hard not to laugh in their faces. Renarin was terrified, every hour of every day, that he would make a fool of himself.

Every day he tried to convince himself of Dalinar’s words. There was no shame in being ignorant. The shame was in remaining that way. Renarin was ignorant of the spear— not wet crem, but not a seasoned spearman. He would not remain that way.

Yes, he feared being a fool. Unfortunately, the decision had already been made. Either way, he was a fool— the only question was if he would remain ignorant.

“Kaladin!” he called, holding the spear at his side.

Kaladin, mid-kata, froze and turned to Renarin. “Renarin?” he asked. He glistened with sweat. Couldn’t the man wear a shirt? “What are you doing?”

“Teach me,” said Renarin, jaw set.

“Teach you… what?”

“Continue my training. You teach Bridge Four to use the spear, and I am Bridge Four.” Renarin swallowed. “Keep teaching me.”

Kaladin stared for a long moment. “No,” he said.

“No.” Renarin let the word stand.

He couldn’t accept that.

“I need to know.” He stared at Kaladin, head raised, grip on his spear tighter than the nausea that held his heart. “I have been a burden on you long enough. I need to be able to fight at your side.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” Renarin stepped forward. “Why are you refusing?”

“This isn’t the time.” Kaladin shut his eyes for a moment. The warmth of his hand was almost pleasant as he put it over Renarin’s, gripping the spear with him. “You don’t need to fight, Renarin.”

“I do.” Renarin pulled away sharply. His heartbeat threatened to shatter him. He looked away, eyes wildly scanning the ground, before forcing his gaze back up. “I am good enough, Kaladin. I can do this.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“Oh? What is it, then?” He turned away, each breath choking out. He needed this. Desperately, he needed this.

How could Kaladin refuse him?

Why was he unworthy this time?

“My blood weakness is gone,” Renarin said, turning back to Kaladin. “I was _a good student_ to you and Zahel. I am son of the Blackthorn, Knight Radiant, and Shardbearer. You have no right to refuse me.”

Kaladin was silent.

Renarin moved out of attention. The tip of his spear pointed toward Kaladin. “Do I have to order you?”

Kaladin’s eyes lifted. He stepped backwards, lowering his spear. “Then order me, Brightlord.”

He almost did. The words, though, were dry and bitter and poison on his tongue. Nausea rose through his chest at the thought.

Renarin turned away and shut his eyes. The battlefield, weapons, the Thrill, blood and sweat and glory, he’d thought of those as his truest love. To be a soldier, a warrior. A proper man, a proper Kholin.

Simply being _of use_.

He walked away from that now, dropping the spear behind him.

In his quest for glory, he’d stopped being a bridgeman and become a prince.

In his quest for glory, he’d betrayed Kaladin.

 

~

 

Kaladin lay on the palace roof, watching the sky.

He wanted to be alone, and he wanted to be free, or at least pretend he was. To feel the breeze on his face, to breathe in the quiet and try his hardest to forget.

The image of Renarin holding that spear still ran through his mind. A good student, one of his best. Somehow that made it hurt more.

Kaladin clenched his fists, trying to stop the thoughts. They were stopping up his throat, crushing his chest, spiraling through his mind like a highstorm. The storm was his home, and he ruled the winds. This wind ruled him.

His blood had run cold at the sight, his mouth almost too dry to speak.

It would all happen as it had before.

But perhaps if he could keep Renarin away from the battlefield, he wouldn’t die there.

 

~

 

Renarin passed the door to Rock’s room, and noted Captain Tanav among the three guards posted there.

“Prince Renarin.”

“I’m sorry for not properly returning your spear, Captain.” Renarin fidgeted, hands behind his back. “It was negligent of me.”

“It was understandable.” Tanav nodded at the wall. “Are you… well, Brightlord?”

“Captain Tanav, how long have you known me?”

“Your entire life, in passing, Brightlord.”

Renarin slowly smiled. “I am as well as you have ever known me to be.”

Tanav nodded slowly.

Renarin paused.

“Am I allowed in there?” He gestured to the door behind them.

“Highlady Roion has not ordered that you be kept out of the King’s chambers, Prince Renarin,” another of the guards said, a gangly fellow not much older than Renarin.

It took a moment. “But Captain Kaladin is not to be allowed in there?”

“No, Brightlord.”

Renarin ran his fingers along the embroidery of his cuffs. Almighty, how he ached for something more satisfying than this. Mevarem feared Kaladin, not him.

Mevarem had made a mistake.

Renarin turned sharply. “May I have the spear again, Captain Tanav? This time I shall return it properly, I assure you.”

“I told you, I don’t need this returned. I’m due for a new one.” The other two guards jumped slightly as he passed over the spear.

The weight of the spear in his hand was salvation. “Let me in,” Renarin said, nodding at the door. “I mean to pay my friend a visit.”

“With a weapon?” the young guard spluttered. “Prince Renarin, how stupid do you think we are?”

“I wouldn’t know; I haven’t known you long enough to assess your stupidity.” With a spear in his hand, he felt like more than young Prince Renarin. “If I meant to use this to fight my way _out_ , I could use it just as well to fight my way _in._ Now, are you going to allow me passage, or must I resort to that?”

He opened the door, and stood aside to let Renarin enter.

“Renarin!” Rock stood, arms wide for a hug which Renarin sidestepped. There was another guard in the room, and he had been talked into a game of cards with Rock. “So, you finally come to visit your old friend? Ha! Why is it you hold this weapon?”

“I’d prefer it if you don’t interrupt what I’m about to say,” Renarin said, finding a corner to stand in at attention. “I’m afraid I may be incoherent, but I’ve found being interrupted tends to worsen that.”

Rock sat on the bed with a genial nod, hands folded. The guard remained in deep study of the cards before him.

“I won’t ask you to do anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Renarin said, keeping his eyes on the ornate landscapes painted on the far wall. “It’s no secret among Bridge Four that you… Well, Rock, you know certain things. Things you prefer to pretend you don’t. I ask no questions about that, only a favor. My training with the spear is not yet complete, but Kaladin… Kaladin has refused to continue it. This place…” Renarin shook his head and looked down. “I need to feel something, Rock. I need the spear. The captain has refused me, and I give you leave to follow him if you think it wise, but…” His jaw clenched. How could Kaladin deny him now? Kaladin, the first person to believe in Renarin— his words had been so beautiful.

They’d come so far, and in this old prison it had all fallen to dust.

“Please, Rock.”

Silence fell over the room, and the guard was trying to cheat. Rock gave him a clap to the head, and the man dropped the cards he held.

“You can speak now,” Renarin mumbled. The hold on his spear slipped, no longer that of a soldier.

“You are second son?” Rock asked.

“Yes.” His posture straightened slightly.

Rock grunted. “An Unkalaki second son, he would not be the soldier. Too important.”

“A farmer?”

“Yes! Bring the family food. Important work.”

Renarin took a deep breath, eyes wandering along the walls. This wasn’t a room he could recall, and there was freedom in that. “A Kholin second son has a duty as well,” he said. “We protect our brothers.”

“I will try to teach you. But I will not touch a weapon.” Rock stood and nodded. “If you are sure the captain will not..?”

“Things got… Ugly.” Renarin felt a blush. “Asking him was a mistake.”

“Odd. He is a born teacher, Kaladin.” Rock nodded to the door. “Come! Your training begins again.”

Renarin followed, his grip tight on the spear in his hand.

Damnation with Kaladin, anyway.

 

~

 

“Bah! You forget what is behind you. I will hit you with my shoe.”

“A frequent danger of battlefields.”

Kaladin turned the corner, and they came into view. Renarin, spear in hand, light on his feet in a kata. Rock, arms folded, watching him.

He stood just out of sight.

Rock circled the student, calling out quick corrections or offering praise. Good notes, all of them.

For a moment, Kaladin considered.

No.

He turned away, and found another place to rest.


	15. i can't be what i'm not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for major ableism, classism, manipulation, slavery... uh, basically if it's a trauma one of the boys has, it's in this.

Somebody knocked on Kaladin’s door.

It cut through the thoughts running around his head, of pasts and futures and boys holding spears. He stood to answer. The prince was avoiding him, he’d been avoiding Rock, and he could think of no one else who’d spare a thought for him. What could the knock be for?

On the other side of the door stood a woman. One of the higher-ranked servants, a lighteyes in fine silk.

“Queen Roion wishes to speak with you,” she said simply.

Kaladin paused. They wouldn’t let him stop to speak to Renarin or Rock— if Mevarem wanted the royals, she would have summoned them. Rock had taken a few audiences with Lady Roion since the first morning, but only convinced her further that he was the Horneater King. He couldn’t think what she would now want from _Kaladin._

“Could I put my shoes on first?”

 

~

 

The servant opened the door, and Kaladin had no choice but to step in and stand before the Queen.

This was a different room than before, small for a palace. There was a table with papers and pens stacked neatly, a few chairs, and a fire. There were drapes on the walls, casting dancing shadows on scenes of conquest. The floor was plain— the ceiling showed the Tranquiline Halls.

At the table’s head sat Mevarem Roion, her hair netted in fine jewels. She leaned forward, examining Kaladin.

“You know,” she said, idly raising her jewel-encrusted right hand, “I’m not sure how I should be addressing you. There’s no protocol for a Knight Radiant, and I’ve never had a _conversation_ with a darkeyes before. You are Captain of the Cobalt Guard, I suppose, but what does that mean when there is no Cobalt Guard?”

“Just Kaladin will do, Brightness.” He nodded politely, bristling at her familiar attitude. Don’t speak out. He could have drawn Syl and won his freedom at any moment, but the consequences…

See what she wanted. Be patient.

“Too bad there’s no real etiquette on how to address the illicit lover of a prince.”

“A _what?_ ” Kaladin spit. Once the shock faded he almost laughed. “I’m nobody’s lover.”

“Aren’t you?” Mevarem stood, disdain written on her face clearer than glyphs. “The way I heard it, the pair of you had purchased a _room_ together… now, that I’ll allow didn’t convince me. But after I heard of all this sneaking around in the night, well, what could I think? You don’t even hide it well, but what does one expect of a darkeyes and little Renarin?”

“We’re not hiding anything,” Kaladin said. “As Captain of the Cobalt Guard, I have a duty to the prince.”

“You’re right to be ashamed.” She walked up to him, jewels softly ringing with every step. With a curl of her lip, she shook her head. “How dare you? How dare even one of _your_ kind stoop so very low? Are all darkeyes idiots, then?”

He was silent, looking over her head. He wouldn’t fight, and he wouldn’t kneel.

“You might as well be bedding an axehound,” she sneered, “though I suppose that wouldn’t be unknown to your sort. Terribly sweet boy, but he doesn’t understand a thing. Practically a child.”

He looked down, lips parted in shock. What was she talking about? He hadn’t bedded-- and what was she saying about Renarin?

“That Dalinar Kholin would entrust his own child to one so depraved…” She shook her head and turned away from him. “That’s not what I brought you here to discuss. You can go on denying it all, if you like. I just thought you should know how terribly you _disgust_ me, Kaladin.”

He didn’t speak. Renarin, practically a child? Had she ever heard him speak a single word? Renarin _understood_ better than this woman ever could.

(Kaladin didn’t think about the idea of Renarin sharing his bed.)

She sat once again, with a deep sigh and face contorted. A languid hand gestured for Kaladin to sit across from her. “Did you really think any prince in his right mind would _really_ choose to degrade himself in that way?”

Kaladin bit back harsh words. Those meant only punishments, and he was already in prison. He sat, and looked down, subservient and away from her scornful face, waiting to see if she had more insults to spit his way. Nothing. “Then what did you bring me here to discuss?”

“A deal.” She lifted her chin. “We both know perfectly well that if you chose, you could escape here easily, and also that I could make a _great_ deal of trouble if you did.”

“I could.” So she wasn’t that much of a fool.

“If you’ll agree to this, then I give my word on all ten Heralds and names of the Almighty that I will let you go free, with all the provisions you can carry.”

“My friends?”

Mevarem sighed lightly. “King Numalumor may do as he pleases, of course. As for Prince Renarin, I want only what is best for him. To be unprotected is far too dangerous for one of his stature. As far as anyone can ascertain, he is the only Kholin in Alethkar.”

“And what do you propose, then?” She meant the rest were dead. She meant Renarin was king.

“It is clear you have influence with the prince.” She looked at Kaladin, staring into his very bones. “Convince him to stay. I will take him for a husband, and he will be safe and well-provided for. It is in his best interest.”

Kaladin was slow to speak. “You,” he said, picking each word with caution, “first say that I’m scum if I’ve taken Renarin to bed— and then say you’ll marry him?”

She sighed. “You try to take the moral high ground? I will take care of him.”

Kaladin’s hands slammed to the table. “He has a right to decide what becomes of him.”

“And you’re an expert on that, are you?” He could feel her eyes on his forehead. “Are you really foolish enough that you think I have given _you_ a choice, either? You will serve your betters, or you _will_ pay the price. Don’t get any delusions.” She leaned across the table, cupping his cheek in her hand. “You’re still nothing but a slave, playing at freedom.”

Kaladin had paid the price, so many times.

Even now, after everything, he couldn’t truly say he ever had been free.

Long nails dug into his jaw, and she forced him to look her in the eye. His breath caught, and when she released him, his head bowed. “Yes,” she said, “yes, I rather thought so. Subservience suits you. I take it you’ll do as I ask you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, you can do better than that.”

Kaladin shut his eyes. “Yes,” he said, “Brightness.”

“Hmm.” She stood and walked, slowly, to his side of the table. In a swift movement, she dug the claws into his scalp and dragged him from his chair. Kaladin hissed as he stumbled to his feet, holding back a cry.

His breath was ragged.

“Come,” she said, looking at him out the corner of her eye, “you can do better than that, can’t you? I am Queen. I am owed better. Show me you still know your place.”

His place. He would never escape it.

“Come.” Mevarem took another step away, the rich fabric of her gown catching on the wooden floor. “This is tedious. We both know you won’t keep playing at being a lighteyes for much longer.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Kaladin. What a foolish name for one so small as you.”

What if he didn’t kneel? What if he summoned Syl and slaughtered her right then?

“Your little slave rebellion failed in the end,” she said, softly. “Your men are slaughtered. You lost. What a fool you were, Kaladin Stormblessed.”

He bowed his head, and kneeled again. It felt familiar and right.

“Acceptable.” Mevarem Roion paced before him for a moment. “You may leave now. Think about my offer.”

He stood, unsteady on his feet, and moved to the door. Lady Roion put a hand on his arm.

“Another offer,” she said, voice low. “You’ll find yourself kneeling before your master again soon enough. Serve me. Be my Blade. Kill Meridas Amaram for me and I’ll let you have his armies.”

She was waiting for an answer.

“I’ll consider it,” he said, the words ash in his throat.

His arm was twisted behind his back. “My queen.”

Out. He needed to get out. “My queen. I’ll consider it, my queen.”

He stared at her, wide-eyed, until she finally released him.

Once the door was safely shut behind him, Kaladin fell to the floor, trying not to let the burning tears reach his eyes.

“No,” he said, pulling himself up, grasping at the wall as he stood. The struggle was futile. He wept. “I am not a slave. I am _not_ a _slave_.”

His words seemed hollow, but Kaladin knew one absolute truth. He took strength in it, and stumbled down the hallway for Renarin’s bedroom.

That night, he would escape or he would die.


	16. we both bruise too easily

“Renarin!”

Kaladin knocked on the door again, hard. His eyes slowly closed shut. He knew what had to be done.

The door opened, and he didn’t wait to come in. Renarin was adjusting the blanket draped over himself.

“Captain,” he said, softly.

“Renarin.” Kaladin’s tongue was too large. “Renarin.”

“What is it?” Renarin shut the door, the blanket falling to the floor forgotten.

“Mevarem Roion summoned me,” he said, shutting his fist tight to keep it from trembling. He would give her no titles, no esteem. “She wants to marry you.”

“She wants to what?” Renarin stared, mouthing over the words a few times. “Right. Of course.”

“I can’t stay here,” said Kaladin. He began to pace the room, eyes darting around to note every detail. This wasn’t a battlefield. There was nothing here to fight with. “She’ll expect a decision from me soon, and once she doesn’t get one…”

“Our position as ostensible guests will be _fucked_.”

He turned. Renarin just shrugged.

“What does she want you to decide?” he asked, kneeling to pick up the blanket.

Kaladin had to take a deep breath, pressing his palm flat against the wall. “I have three options. I can make things difficult, I can convince you to marry her and then I leave with Rock, or I can… I can be her Blade. I can go out there and kill Amaram, for her.”

“Then leave.” Renarin played with the blanket in his hands. “They’ll guard me less harshly, so I should be able to find my way out.”

“No.” Kaladin’s hand dropped into a fist. “I won’t leave you here alone.”

“I’ve escaped this place before.” Calmly, he put the blanket back on the bed and smoothed it out. “Obviously, like everyone else on Roshar, she expects me to be capable of nothing.”

_Practically a child._

“I am capable, however, of at least one thing. To be unnoticed.” Renarin looked up. “It’s a kind of power. Not often useful, but it is what I know. Without Kaladin Stormblessed and the King of the Unkalaki here, I’ll be forgotten again. When no one’s paying attention to you, leaving the palace isn’t hard. I’ll grab a scarf to wrap my hair or— Damnation, I’ll shave it and say I’m an ardent. We’ll met along the river and head for the mountains again.”

He looked to Kaladin, jaw trembling.

“No,” Kaladin repeated. He stepped toward the bed that separated them. “I won’t leave you. If you know how to escape, why haven’t you just done it yet?”

“They _watch you_. Haven’t you noticed?” Renarin slammed his hands on the bed. “Everyone fears you. Kaladin Stormblessed, you are a legend. You could never be left alone, not the way I can— especially when Mevarem believes I’ve consented to the marriage.”

“Then I’ll say I’ll be her soldier.”

“You are not caging yourself for me again.” Renarin turned away, shoving both hands into his loose hair. “You don’t even understand how conspicuous you are! You’re a Radiant, a darkeyes, you slayed a Shardbearer—”

“ _You’re_ a Radiant, and prince of Alethkar!”

“I’m a cripple and an idiot.” He turned again, spreading his arms wide. “I am nothing, and you are _everything._ You are never unnoticed.”

Kaladin shut his eyes and moved his hands to his face, running them over his brands and through his hair. “I am your captain.”

Renarin shrunk. “I chose to follow you,” he said, slowly.

“Stop ordering me, then.”

He gave a quick “yes, sir” and sat on the bed, hands folded in his lap.

Kaladin paced the room a few more times. Where was that heroic legend tonight? Kaladin Stormblessed sounded distant and forgotten. He wasn’t the legendary squadleader who’d slain a Shardbearer, he wasn’t a Windrunner, he wasn’t Captain of the Cobalt Guard.

He was a slave.

He couldn’t afford to be a slave.

“She doesn’t have any Shardbearers. If we just break Rock out and keep him defended…” He trailed off. Too many confined spaces in the palace— it was _designed_ to take the advantage from a Shardblade. Renarin had pointed out the galleries meant for archers.

If he had Stormlight, that would mean nothing.

“If I could fly us out of here…”

He looked to Renarin, who was silently rubbing the hem of his shirt between finger and thumb. Kaladin took a deep breath. No, he wouldn’t get any help from Renarin.

Wasn’t that what he wanted?

Then the horn blew.

In an instant, the shouts could be heard. Shouts, and the tumult of running boots. Snippets of sentences— _an attack_ — _the west wall_ — _report to Captain_ —

Renarin was on his feet, watching the room like a cornered beast.

“Wait.” Kaladin raised a hand. Let the stampede pass, then… “This could be it.”

He didn’t think about what an attack meant. Who an attack meant. He couldn’t afford to be weak.

The door opened. Syl materialized in Kaladin’s hand before it shut.

Kiralar Rethan gave the pair one glance.

“Yes, exactly why I came.” He strode through the room, passing Kaladin. A fine silk robe flowed behind him. “I trust I can enlist your services without having to resort to unpleasantness?”

“I won’t be her little toy,” Kaladin said, taking his Sylspear in both hands. He kept his eyes on Rethan.

Which is why he didn’t see Renarin until he had Rethan by the throat. His spear had been somewhere in the room— he’d grabbed it and now stood behind Rethan, spear pressed hard against his neck.

“We want Stormlight,” said Renarin. He looked to Kaladin. “You’re going to give it to us.”

Kaladin smiled and dismissed Syl. “You heard the prince, Brightlord.”

 

~

 

Kaladin kicked the door in.

“It has taken you long enough,” Rock said, standing up. “Glowing! So you have found the spheres, eh?”

“Brightlord Rethan was kind enough to make us a loan,” Renarin said. He stood behind Kaladin, a pack slung over one shoulder and a spear in his hand. “Before we locked him in the privy.”

Rock gave a loud laugh as he stepped forward. When he reached the door, he clapped both of them on the shoulder. “Where it is we are going then, Captain?”

“The mountains, where my parents are. With these spheres, we could be there by morning.” He put a hand on Rock’s arm.

“I am sorry,” Rock said, “but I will not be going there with you. I stay in Kholinar.”

“What?” Renarin stepped back.

“Why?” Kaladin tried to hide the fear in his pounding heart.

“My family,” Rock said, gently. “They are here, Kaladin. They stay at the Dancing Chull, with Vevi. I will not leave them.”

“I…” Kaladin swallowed. “We could get them out.”

“No.”  Rock shook his head. “Too many for you to fly. Sigzil has counted your limits, with bridgemen, remember?”

“Then we’ll fight,” said Kaladin. “It has to be better than leaving your family in a war zone.”

Rock laughed. “You think this place is so dangerous? Kholinar is a strong city. Strong like its people!” He slapped Renarin on the shoulder. “Since the Everstorm, the places by the walls are abandoned. This is where they battle. My family is safe! Here, there are many large Horneater men. I am safe! For you… it is not so.” Rock smiled. “It will not be long until I am seeing you again. This I know.”

Kaladin swallowed, trying to think of anything to say that wasn’t childish. If Rock didn’t leave with them, Kaladin couldn’t know if he was alive.

Instead of words, he gave the Bridge Four salute. In an instant, Rock and Renarin returned it.

Kaladin turned to lead them down the hallway, letting Syl coalesce in his hand.

Suddenly, he had clarity.

 

~

 

Renarin felt the ground again too soon.

They were barely out of Kholinar, and the exhilaration of air quickly turned to sickening fear.

“What are you doing?” he asked Kaladin, but he thought he already knew.

“I have to do something.” Kaladin looked to Kholinar. He dropped the pack he was holding, rummaging through for the pouch of spheres. He tied the pouch to his arm, and Renarin watched silently.

“I’ll keep guard,” he said after a moment, nodding to the pack. “As I take it…”

“Stay here.” Kaladin nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Of course. Good luck, Captain.”

Renarin saluted— a Bridge Four salute, followed by a _proper_ one. The sort of salute men gave his father.

Kaladin returned the Bridge Four salute, and then he was gone.

Renarin watched as Syl’s blue light faded, as Kaladin flew off into the warzone of Kholinar.

Meridas Amaram didn’t know what was coming for him.


	17. the pious, hateful, and devout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some light gore.

Amaram stood on the walls of Kholinar.

“You,” he said, turning slowly.

Kaladin steadied himself. “Meridas Amaram,” he said, stepping forward, Syl in hand.

“Yes, I know my name.”

Kaladin looked at the chaos of war below. Men, and boys, flame in the streets. Blood was pounding through him. The blood was making him sick.

“You know why I’m here.”

“Because you’re an arrogant fool.” Amaram stepped forward with infinite poise, the Shardblade materializing in his hands.

The Blade that had slaughtered his men, and Kaladin’s eyes couldn’t stay still, trying to find some glimpse of those he had to protect.

“I should have finished the job in the first place.” Languid words, unfitting for a battle. “I _was_ trying to be civilized. A pity.”

“Civilized men don’t slaughter innocent children.” Kaladin launched into the sky, just missing Amaram’s blow.

He shifted to a strong, immovable sword stance. “Civilized men understand the cost of war.”

“My brother was not a cost!” Too many, too many. Kaladin gulped air down and circled, watching for his opening. Amaram was too good to just fall off the wall, but maybe with the right feints… “None of them were.”

“Yes, they are.”

Toward the wall. He raised Syl to deflect Amaram’s blow and kept going. He was level with the wall now, on the other side, just out of reach.

“They were stolen,” Kaladin said. “You stole each of those lives.”

He jumped back; the blow nearly landed. Kaladin danced just out of reach, tempting Amaram further. Plate couldn’t be Lashed, not while the spheres were still lit, but throw him off the wall, make him leak…

“How can I steal what I own?” He slashed at Kaladin’s arm again, opening himself up to a jab. His pauldron cracked.

Kaladin darted back, before retaliation. He tried to pull his mind together— why was he so out of breath? He was— he was— where was Renarin?

Amaram looked over his shoulder.

He jumped off the wall.

Then, arrows.

His pouch of spheres went flying. An arrow hit his stomach, his shoulder, his cheek. It tore through his mouth as he fell.

Kaladin stood unsteadily, and barely blocked Amaram’s strike.

“I was surprised to hear you were here.”

Strike, block. Strike, block.

“I really hadn’t expected you to be bothering me again. You are a troublesome little upstart, aren’t you?”

Kaladin shifted, tried to go on the offensive. He swept Syl in, trying to knock him off balance. Amaram dodged and nearly hit Kaladin’s free arm.

“I came to stop you.”

“Just accept things, Stormblessed.” Amaram raised his Blade and struck down at Kaladin. He blocked with Syl, pressing back with all his strength. “Your vendetta will doom Roshar.”

There were soldiers behind them.

Children dying.

Kaladin’s grip loosened.

One moment of lost concentration, and Amaram had him on the ground.

“So _this_ is the mighty Kaladin Stormblessed?”

Shardplate boots stepped on his wrist, crushing the bones. Amaram, Blade raised, towered above him.

Syl shifted to a knife in the other hand, but as he reached up the boot moved to his chest. Kaladin was frozen.

“A pity,” said Amaram, “but I suppose it is necessary.”

He moved to strike, but suddenly paused.

“You must be lost,” Amaram said. “Allow me a moment.”

Then his face was overwritten by fear.

“Step back,” said Renarin. As Amaram did, Kaladin scrabbled to his feet.

A twisting green Shardblade was iridescent in Renarin's hands. Arrows were lodged in him, wounds healed around them. As Kaladin stepped back, trying to calm the wounded animal in his heart, the Blade shifted to a vinelike spear.

“You debase yourself and choose a peasant's weapon?” Amaram sneered. “I see you’re as fool as your dead father, young prince.”

“Gladly,” said Renarin. He stepped forward, to Kaladin's side. “You stand as proof nobility is more base than the lowest peasant.”

A volley of arrows. On instinct, Kaladin drew them to him.

His Light was fading fast, healing every arrow-lined inch.

“Captain!” Renarin blocked a strike, moving into a whirlwind clash. Kaladin rushed forward. A back blow deflected his strike.

Amaram's Blade came too close to striking Renarin. He turned in a fluid motion, deflecting Syl. Kaladin launched into the air, and Amaram swiftly turned to deflect Renarin’s spear.

In the air he was a target. Arrows flew toward Kaladin again.

He didn’t have the Light for another volley.

“Kaladin!” Renarin called, spear held high to block Amaram’s slash.

He looked up, and Kaladin knew what he had to do.

He Lashed Renarin to himself and let the wind carry him far away from this battlefield.

Kholinar was abandoned, a bloody tomb for more young soldiers Kaladin couldn't save.

 

~

 

Renarin clenched his fists as Kaladin cut the arrows from his flesh with unsteady hands.

“One more,” he whispered, voice rough and unsteady.

Then it would be Renarin’s turn, and that hurt more than the knife. Renarin wasn’t a surgeon. Yes, even if he slipped, there was Stormlight for healing. The idea, though, of cutting into Kaladin’s flesh, of hurting him…

“There,” Kaladin said, pulling the arrow free and dropping it to the ground. Behind him, the wounds healed.

Renarin took a deep breath and accepted the knife. His heart pounded, looking at the arrows that lodged all over Kaladin’s body.

“I’ll be fine.” He turned, stripping off his torn shirt. Flesh had healed around each arrow, making them appear almost natural spines.

Renarin took a moment to steady himself.

“You’re sure?”

“Do it.”

Renarin sliced Kaladin’s back open. Desperate not to think, to look, he yanked each arrow free. Each wound healed, helped along by Renarin. Kaladin’s back was laced with the ribbonlike scars of whippings, unhealed even now.

“I’m sorry.” His hand slipped, and Renarin winced. Kaladin hardly reacted.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve hurt you, I’ve… I disobeyed you. I forgot myself. And I hurt you.”

Kaladin’s blood was on his hands, and they were shaking.

“You saved my life.” Kaladin’s words were slow, uncertain. “Are you apologizing for that?”

Renarin pulled another arrow from Kaladin’s shoulder. “Should I?”

Kaladin turned his head. He looked at Renarin through heavy eyes.

“I’m the one who should apologize,” he said. He put a hand on Renarin’s arm. “I forgot that you… you’re not… _Storms_ , Renarin.”

Renarin silently sliced another arrow free.

“You’re a terrible surgeon,” Kaladin said, with nearly a laugh. “But you’re a very good soldier.”

Renarin dropped the knife.

“I let myself be just another forbidding you. You were born to fight, with blade or spear. You were never the reason I wouldn’t teach you, Renarin.”

Three more arrows to cut free. Renarin took another sphere and breathed its Light.

“I can’t lose you. I thought I could protect you, but…” Kaladin inhaled sharply as Renarin sliced his chest. “I was the one who needed protecting.”

Renarin didn’t speak as he cut out the final arrows. Then, he pulled Kaladin into his arms, grabbing him in a hungry embrace.

“I hurt you.” Words rushed out like blood from a wound. “I hurt you, either way. I hurt you and… and…”

“And I hurt you,” Kaladin breathed. “Again.” He clung to Renarin, like a lost child. Hot tears ran down Renarin’s face, pressed into Kaladin’s curls. “I’m tired. I’m so tired.”

With the rough breaths of tears, he pulled away and looked at Renarin with shining eyes.

“Sleep,” Renarin whispered. His soul ached, a question he couldn’t answer.

After a few false starts, Kaladin found words again. “If you’ll keep watch.”

“Always,” he said without hesitation. He reached out to run a hand through Kaladin’s hair. “Go to sleep, my captain.”

He nodded slowly, and laid his head beside Renarin’s leg. Kaladin looked… small.

This was all Renarin could give, but Kaladin deserved more. He deserved more than his past, and more than Renarin could offer. He deserved safety, peace, love.

Renarin moved his hand to rub Kaladin’s shoulders. A soft hum— asleep already?

“Kaladin?” he whispered.

No response. Asleep.

Renarin forced a breath. He brushed curls aside from Kaladin’s face— not a peaceful sleep.

“I love you,” he whispered. Another breath, and he bent down to place a kiss on Kaladin’s forehead.

Another soft mumble. Kaladin turned slightly, his head now laying against Renarin’s legs.

Renarin straightened himself and looked out into the night.

His hand stayed on Kaladin’s shoulder.


	18. i may have failed but i have loved you from the start

Sky welcomed Kaladin back. He shut his eyes and felt it, the wind in his face and Renarin clutching at his shoulder.

Not enough Light to make it all the way to the mountains, but this meant leaving Kholinar far behind, and it meant Kaladin could try to find himself in the numbness again.

Syl raced around them as a ribbon of spren, an artful scribe’s letter on the winds.

“You can let go, you know,” she said to Renarin. “I’ll keep you airborne.”

“It’s unsettling to feel nothing solid,” he said. “Perhaps when I get used to this.”

There was some twinge of feeling in Kaladin’s throat. He turned his head, feeling the wind on every inch of it.

“Not much longer,” he said, reluctantly. They had to save some Light, for emergencies. He was already feeling the strength fade, leaving him a shell again. A few days left to walk, a few days that would seem endless. Then…

He didn’t know. His mind went blank when he thought of the future.

A problem for another time.

He lowered Renarin to the ground first, then hovered in the air for a few moments more. Kaladin looked to the distant mountains, the farmland below.

This was his home, and the thought of leaving weighted his chest. Here, he could pretend he truly was the invincible force of nature, Kaladin Stormblessed.

On the ground, he was nothing but despair and mistakes again. But his Light was running out, and his fall was jarring and rough.

Kaladin took a deep breath, and looked up to the beautiful clear blue of the sky that had abandoned him.

“Captain?” Renarin asked.

“That way,” Kaladin said, pointing toward the mountains. “Come on.”

Back to walking, then. Everything, somehow, had changed since the Unclaimed Hills. His emptiness before had been different. Hollow, familiar. Something he’d survived before.

This guilt, the way he felt when he looked at Renarin— it was new. Mistakes were familiar, but not this one. He’d been not only foolish, but cruel. Cruel to Renarin. Renarin, who was something new himself.

Oh, but the cruelty wasn’t new.

He looked back to Renarin, who was running his hand along the leather strap of the pack he carried. Kaladin mentally recited his mistakes, punctuating each with a hammered insult. Underestimated Renarin. _Idiot._ Tried to cage him. _Bastard._ Broken his box in anger.

Broken his box.

Suddenly, Kaladin’s eye was caught by a glint of sunlight against the rocks lining their path. He hadn’t found the strength to do this in years. It was the right time now. Time to be stronger.

He had broken Renarin’s box, back in the Unclaimed Hills, and while he could never replace it perhaps he could do the next best thing.

Dropping his pack aside, Kaladin knelt at the side of the path and picked through the rocks covering the ground. It was a long search for him— he was no Tien. Too small, too large, too jagged, too light— he was sure he’d picked this one up at least twice, maybe more. In one hand he clutched the ones that were right. Smooth rocks, heavy, ones cool and smooth when you rubbed them, ones that shone in the light like night sky.

He had a handful of rocks, and realized that Renarin must be staring behind him. Wondering. He would have to explain— explain this madness that had come over him.

It was time to bare the rest of his soul to Renarin. Kaladin shut his eyes, and took a ragged breath.

“Renarin,” he said, standing, pooling the rocks into both hands together.

“Yes?” Renarin’s eyes shot up. Still standing with the unnatural stiffness of a frightened new recruit.

“My brother Tien,” he said, reaching his hands out. “He used to collect rocks for me.”

The words were hollow. They couldn’t explain the place this held in his soul. Kaladin’s breath caught as Renarin reached out for the rocks. He rolled them around, examined each one.

“Good rocks,” Renarin said softly, touching a flat and smooth one to his cheek.

“They are.” Kaladin shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe once more. “You said that your aunt made your box, the box I broke. I can’t replace it, but I can offer you something… something my brother gave me.”

“Oh,” Renarin said softly. He touched the rocks, not speaking.

Kaladin knelt down for his discarded pack. Out the corner of his eyes, he caught glimpses of Renarin toying around with the rocks in his hand. Each was examined before he tucked them into the sphere pouch of his pack. All but one. The one he’d touched to his face stayed in his hand.

“Time to get going,” Kaladin said, tilting his head toward the mountains.

“Lead the way, Captain.”

He shouldered the pack and started walking again.

Every so often, he kept looking back to see if Renarin was still playing with the rock in his hand. He was.

 

~

 

Their second day walking, as the mountains grew ever closer, Kaladin stopped and turned.

“Do you still want me to teach you?” he asked.

Renarin stopped in his tracks, turning slowly. “You would?”

“I told you. I made a mistake refusing you.” He looked to track the sun. They had time to spar, and still make camp tomorrow. “You’re good with a spear. I’d be a fool if I didn’t keep teaching you.”

“I…” Renarin stepped back, slipping the rock he held back into his pack.

Then, he dropped the pack and summoned Glys.

Yes, he’d improved since Kaladin had taught him last. Stronger grip, stronger stance. This was a spearman, not a Shardbearer holding a stick.

Kaladin summoned Syl and twirled the spear around in a kata. Renarin, more hesitantly, followed.

“A quick spar,” Kaladin said, falling into a defensive stance. “Show me what you can do.”

Renarin’s stance shifted. Lighter on his feet, smart. He held back, watching for his opening.  Kaladin moved in to strike instead, and Renarin twisted to deflect. Not bad, but Kaladin could follow, taking an arm off Syl to lock it in Renarin’s elbow.

“You have more than one weapon,” he said, tugging a little before he went back. “Remember that. The spear is only an extension of your body.”

“First weapon is your mind,” Renarin recited. He moved in quickly for the strike this time, and in the twirling clash the heel of his hand landed to Kaladin’s jaw.

“Third and fourth are the knives you keep strapped somewhere,” Kaladin added, moving for a blow— Renarin deflected, but scraped his knuckles.

“Falls under first.” Renarin shifted to offense, trying jabs instead of sweeping blows this time. Smart, but it wouldn’t work.

He was fighting Kaladin Stormblessed.

They twisted around together, a tangled mess of arms and Shard. Suddenly, Renarin backed away. His spear was down, his grip… wrong.

Kaladin’s guard slipped, and then something hit him.

He hit the ground, hard. Before he could understand what had happened, there was a spear shaft pressed against his throat. He blinked up at Renarin. Something caught in his chest, and a smile rose to his lips. Without thinking, he lifted one hand and touched Renarin’s arm. Renarin froze at the touch.

He reached down and threw Glys from Renarin’s hands. In another instant, he rolled them over, throwing Renarin to the ground. “Two can play at that game,” he said, straddling Renarin’s hips.

Renarin snorted, earnest laughter that he hadn’t heard in too long. Kaladin felt a blush coming over his face as he looked at Renarin, lying beneath him. Messy hair, a crooked grin.

The smile faded, and Renarin brushed his fingers against Kaladin’s wrist. He looked as if he was about to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Before they could, Kaladin rolled off to lay at Renarin’s side.

“A moment to rest,” he said. “Then we should get going. We should be there tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Renarin repeated. He took a deep breath. “It hardly seems real. For so long, it seemed… we would always be alone.”

Kaladin took a long moment to think about that. He wasn’t sure if what he wanted to say was wise.

It was a beautiful afternoon, they were free and nearly home, and their sparring match had reignited a spark of the happiness Kaladin was always struggling to hold. He said it anyway.

“I feel less alone with just you than with a dozen others.”

“So do I.”

Kaladin turned his head. Renarin was focused on the sky, face blank— not peaceful.

“We should get going.” He stood and spared a glance for Syl, who sat cross-legged in midair. The iridescent light by her side must have been Glys. “I’ll give you a proper lesson when we get there.”

“Thank you,” Renarin said.

There was far more to say, but as they walked they were silent. Kaladin's thoughts kept straying back to their spar.

He thought about his legs around Renarin's hips, and it filled him with something warm and strange.

 

~

 

Renarin was fast asleep, bathed in starlight. Kaladin sat beside him, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest.

Foolish thoughts and feelings he had tried to bury were running around his head, now Renarin wasn’t there to see them. He knew better to think this way, or to feel the things he did now. He knew where this led.

“Syl,” he whispered.

She stepped out of the darkness, sitting on the ground beside the two. She looked at him, not speaking. Her smile was soft and kind, not laughing or mocking.

Kaladin looked down at her, then shut his eyes tight. If he spoke these things aloud, they would be real.

“You were right,” he said instead. His throat was dry, his tongue was bitter.

“I usually am.” She tilted her head, her hair falling down to the side. “I guess I should have let you figure this one out for yourself, though. I’m sorry, Kaladin.” She reached out and touched his hand. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I don’t think I can be happy.”

“Of course you can be. It’s always going to be a battle for you, but it’s one you can win.” She held his wrist tight.

“But I’ll lose him.” Kaladin looked at Renarin, again, sleeping peacefully for once. Renarin only rarely found peace in sleep. The nights spent by his side had been nights of getting kicked and elbowed, and of being kept awake by gasps and nightmares. There was a pain in seeing him at peace, while knowing it wouldn’t last. “I can’t let myself feel this. Everything I’ve ever… they’ve taken everything from me, Syl. No. No, not because somebody took them— because I failed.”

“You still have me. You still have Renarin.”

“I killed you, Syl.” He hated to say it out loud. He had tried so hard to forget. Every day he ached with knowing that Syl was tied to him, dependent on him even more than he depended on her. “I’ve killed so many. In the end I’ll probably kill Renarin too.”

“You don’t know Bridge Four is dead.” Syl bit her lip, still holding Kaladin’s wrist. “I’m _here_ , Kaladin. You may have stumbled, but you didn’t fail me. You are so much more than the failures. Keep fighting. You can win.”

“Keep fighting,” he repeated. Renarin mumbled in his sleep and rolled into Kaladin.

Kaladin reached out and brushed Renarin’s hair back, out of his face. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

Renarin mumbled again. Half of him was lying in Kaladin’s lap now.

“I can’t keep fighting, Syl.” Kaladin shut his eyes. “I hurt him. How can I protect him when I’m the one he needs protected from? How can I protect him when keeping him _away_ from the battle would just be a slower death?”

“The same way I protect you, silly.” Syl looked up at him and smiled. “You just stay with him. Fight at his side, whether it’s soldiers or just his past.”

“He could die.” He looked down at the boy asleep on him. He was drooling on Kaladin’s leg.

“So could you,” Syl said, head tilted. “I’m still here.”

He shut his eyes. “Do you want to be?”

“You know, I think I do.” When he opened his eyes, Syl was sitting by his shoulder, smiling at him. “Even though you’re chronically rude, _incredibly_ stupid, a major wet blanket, oh, and didn’t you kill me once? Yes. Yes, I want to be here, Kaladin. The Nahel bond makes me so much… _more_ than I am, alone. I feel whole, with you, and that’s worth everything you put me through.”

“And I’m the same way,” he muttered, looking off to the stars.

As much as he feared it, as much pain as it caused, without those he loved Kaladin wasn’t complete. The pain and fear weighed him down, but it was all worth it.

Renarin had once called him constant as the east star. Fear could obscure him, but the clouds would pass.

It would be hard. It would hurt. It would be worth it.

“I think I’m falling in love.” He looked to Syl. He ached with hollow certainty of it.

He’d been falling in love for a long time, hadn’t he?

“I know.”

Kaladin looked down to Renarin. He was tossing around in his sleep, softly mumbling and groaning.

He touched a hand to Renarin’s shoulder, slowly brushing his fingers along it. “What am I supposed to do, Syl?”

“Fall in love.”

Kaladin shut his eyes. Fear whispered that he didn’t want to fall in love, that he didn’t want something so easily broken and lost.

He wanted it. He wanted it, desperately, and it was too late now anyway.

Renarin tossed again, and Kaladin took him into his arms. He whispered reassurances, and felt the tenseness of Renarin’s sleeping body fade away.

Kaladin lay down, still holding Renarin tight to his chest, and hoped that soon he could sleep and forget this wanting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter wraps up Part One! Part Two will start posting in January.


	19. a man with a reason

The first tent appeared on the horizon, and Kaladin smiled.

Fear followed a moment after, but he wouldn’t let that show. They had  _ made it.  _ If it was time to mourn, he would mourn then, but now was time to celebrate.

“We’re almost there,” Renarin breathed, disbelieving.

“We are.” The camp would be away from the war, a respite from this constant fear. Renarin would be safe.

“I can’t wait to see Mom again,” Syl said, blowing to Kaladin’s shoulder.

“I told you,” he said, rolling his eyes, “she’s not your mother, she’s mine.”

“Well, she didn’t object to it.”

“That’s because she’s not used to talking spren who are small pieces of a god.”

“If she doesn’t want me to call her Mom, she could just tell me. I’m not  _ rude. _ ”

“Yes, you are.” Kaladin sighed. “Fine. Call her Mom.”

“Thank you, I will.” Syl turned and flitted around Renarin’s head. “You’ll like Hesina, I’m sure of it.”

Renarin hummed what might have been agreement.

The camp grew closer on the horizon, and Kaladin’s pace grew faster. They were nearly in the mountains, hazy blue crags looming over them on the horizon. Half the camp was in a cave system, safe from any storm that could pass. Hearthstone had been beyond saving, hardly enough left of it to salvage and no way to stop the next storm from wiping away that too. So they had come here, with those left of other villages, and built this place. A safe haven to protect from Desolation and war.

“There’s someone waving,” Renarin said.

Kaladin looked out. The figure of a woman, with dark hair tied back.

“That’s probably my mother.” His heart pounded. This was real.

His mother was welcoming him home again.

Renarin grabbed Kaladin’s hand, holding on as tightly as he could. “We’re here.”

“We are.” He squeezed Renarin’s hand.

He looked out to the camp, then looked to Kaladin. “I didn’t really think we’d get here.”

“Neither did I.” Every step brought it closer, but not close enough.

Renarin seemed to feel the same, because he let go of Kaladin’s hand and asked “Race me?”

Before he could answer, Renarin was running towards the camp. Kaladin paused— letting Renarin have a head start— and then he ran too.

The terrain was uneven, and he felt himself skidding several times, but the wind in his face and the exhilaration of  _ home  _ kept him running. Not quite his home, but the pounding in his heart didn’t care. He caught up with Renarin easily, heart pounding. They were almost there now, and yes, that was his mother waiting.

She looked, and she recognized him.

Kaladin slowed down, and stopped a few feet in front of her. Renarin was a few moments behind.

“Son,” said Hesina.

Kaladin stepped forward. She pulled him into her arms. “Son,” she repeated, holding him tight. “We feared the worst, when we heard.”

“So did I,” he mumbled, holding his mother to him. “Is everyone safe?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, we’re all safe and well.” After a moment, she pulled away and touched his face. “I see you’ve had a hard journey.”

“We have.” Kaladin stepped to the side. “This is Prince Renarin.”

“Just Renarin, please.” Renarin stepped forward, and bowed politely. “You must be Hesina. It’s a pleasure to meet you, nanha.”

“Prince Renarin,” she said to herself, in mild shock. Hesina shook it aside. “Pleasure to meet you too, Renarin.” She took one look at Renarin, and pulled him in for a brief hug. Renarin blinked, quite frozen, even after she’d pulled away.

“You boys look hungry,” she said. “Let me get you some food, and then I’ll tell your father you’ve come home.”

“It’s fine,” Kaladin said.

“You are going to eat something. Both of you look half starved.” Her tone left no room for argument.

“Yes, mother.”

“Thank you,” added Renarin.

She smiled and gestured for them to follow her inside the nearest tent. The air was cooler inside. There was a table and some stools, and they sat when Hesina gestured them to.

There wasn’t much in the pouches and boxes she looked through, but she handed them both a cup of water and a full plate of food.

“Eat,” she said.

Kaladin rolled his eyes. He tore a strip of bread and pushed it into his mouth. Renarin tried at first to be polite, but soon hunger won out and he shoved handfuls into his mouth.

Hesina smiled. She turned to her son, and rushed forward to hold him. “I am so glad to see you safe, Kaladin.”

He said nothing, just taking a moment to find comfort in the warmth of his mother’s arms.

They were safe. They were home.

“I have to tell your father,” she said, pulling away. “I have to tell— oh, I’m sure he’ll know soon enough no matter what.”

He watched her leave, then turned back to his plate. There were only a few moments of quiet to eat and drink before the entrance to the tent rustled again.

Kaladin stood. A woman stood there, pale gold streaks in her hair— she had cut almost all of it off, the ends blunt and ragged. She studied him, chin raised.

“Laral,” he said, stepping forward.

“Kal.” She leapt forward, putting her arms around his neck.

He put his arms around her, and held her off the ground. Eyes shut, he breathed slowly. She gripped his shoulders tightly.

“This is Laral Wistiow,” he said, turning to Renarin. She was Roshone’s widow now, and had cast his name aside in scorn.

“Oh!” Renarin stood. “I borrowed your name. The surname, I mean. It was Kaladin’s idea.” He gestured to his hair, then at Laral’s. “I’m Renarin Kholin. Pleased to meet you, Brightness.”

“Renarin Kholin,” she repeated. It took her a moment to come to terms with him. “The pleasure is mine, Prince Renarin.”

“Just Renarin,” Kaladin said. He let Laral down, stepping away and nodding towards her and Renarin.

“It’s not as if I’m prince of much,” he said, half an aside. He looked to Laral again, and nodded politely. “Would you like me to leave so you two can catch up in private?”

“No,” she said, a little too quickly, “there’s no need of that. I… just had to see for myself that he was really here.”

“I’m here,” Kaladin said.

“How long for?” She turned, face cast down but looking up at him. Her gloved hand picked at her skirts.

“I don’t know.” He sat back down, and held a curl of dried meat up in contemplation.

“But you aren’t staying.” Laral pulled a stool up, and sat with them. Her arms rested on the table. Her voice was low. “You never stay.”

“I stay where I’m needed.” He looked at Renarin, who was shoving large chunks of bread in his face and doing an obvious job of ignoring the conversation. “Where I have people to protect.”

“Yet you never stayed here,” she said. Laral looked at him, sighing deeply. “Bigger and better things for you, I suppose. More deserving.”

“I left Hearthstone,” he said, staring at his plate too, “for Tien. When I left the last time, it was for a promise I made to the Kholins. This time… I don’t know.”

“You’ll leave,” she said, and it didn’t even sound bitter. “Sooner or later, Kal.”

“I don’t know that.” He shoved the meat into his mouth, and thought as he chewed. “If I’m needed, I’ll stay.”

“Really? That’s never how it’s worked before.”

“I’m going to go get some fresh air,” Renarin said. He downed his cup of water and stood. “It’s been lovely to meet you, Brightness Wistiow.”

“Likewise,” she said.

Kaladin couldn’t think of anything to say. He watched Renarin leave, then turned back to Laral, trying to think of any words to defend himself. Failing that, to think of an apology.

Nothing came.

Laral looked at him, not surprised, not disappointed.

“Gancho!” came a shout from outside. A very familiar shout. “Little cousin!”

Kaladin stood. His heart was trying to break from his chest, his pulse beating like the march of an army. He could hear Renarin’s voice, much softer, but enough to make out a few words.

Enough to make out that he was saying “Lopen”.

Kaladin tore out of the tent, and immediately got a Herdazian to the chest.

“Gancho!” Lopen repeated, clinging to Kaladin’s shoulders. “You’re here!”

“You’re here!” Kaladin repeated.

Lopen gave his loudest laugh. With one arm, it was hard to grab at the pair of them, but Lopen managed it.

“How?” asked Renarin, after a dazed second. He grabbed Lopen and Kaladin with an arm each, looking from face to face with a breathless look.

“The Lopen,” said Lopen, grinning, “works in mysterious ways. What is it that took you so long? We’ve been here weeks already.”

“We ran into some armies,” said Renarin.

“And bandits.”

“I jumped in a river.”

“We were captured.”

“Brightness Roion tried to force me to marry her.”

“Wait,” Kaladin said, “what do you mean,  _ we _ ? Your cousins?”

“No, no.” Lopen sighed. His grip had finally loosened slightly. “Most of them had no interest in staying in Alethkar while, to put it nicely, everything goes straight to Damnation. They said to me, Lopen, why is it you are staying here in this crazy country? I told them I would never leave until I find my captain. They said that if I was going to be that stupid, they would not interfere, and so they left me. Not so stupid now, am I?”

“Oh,” Kaladin said.

Lopen was here, and he was real. He was safe and alive.

Maybe there was hope for the rest of Bridge Four too.

“And,” Lopen said, leaning in close to their ears, “it didn’t hurt that the Brightness is a very cute lady.”

“The Brightness,” Laral said, “is standing right here, and you are looking right at her.”

“Yes, I know. I see her standing there.”

She sighed, loudly. Lopen pulled away from Kaladin and Renarin, that grin still on his face.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, with a punch to each shoulder. “Gancho. Little cousin.”

“I’m not that little. I’m taller than you.” Indignation couldn’t hide Renarin’s joy.

“There he is,” Laral said. She pointed towards the other end of camp, where it led into the caves. A man was running towards them, with a crab in his hand.

“Lopen!” he yelled. “Do you know how long it took me to…”

Renarin stepped forward, shoving Lopen aside. “Cousin,” he said softly.

“Renarin!” The king of Alethkar sprinted across camp, shoved his crab at Lopen, and then pulled Renarin close to his chest. “Cousin,” he said, holding him tight. “You’re safe, you’re alive.”

“You too.” Renarin’s arms were tight around Elhokar’s neck, head pressed into his shoulder.

“Kaladin.” Elhokar looked up, and gave a crooked smile. “Thank you for saving my cousin.”

He took a moment to think of anything to say.

Instead, he just nodded, and turned away. Lopen grinned, and Kaladin returned the smile this time. “Is there anyone else you’re hiding here?” he asked.

“No. Just me and the king there. Sorry, gancho.” He shrugged, throwing his hand up.

Kaladin grunted. He took another step toward Laral. She was watching the Kholins, arms folded but her expression soft.

“I’m sorry,” Lopen repeated, his voice soft and earnest. “I tried to find the rest of us, captain. I really did.”

“I saw Rock,” Kaladin said, softly. “He’s in Kholinar, with his family. The rest… they’re out there. We’ll find them.”

“So you are leaving,” Laral said softly.

He looked to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No.” She shrugged. “You’re not. I’m not even sure you should be. We’ll be fine without you, Kaladin.” The wind softly leafed through her hair. She looked at Lopen, and at Renarin and Elhokar. “It’s just nice to have you back sometimes, you know. To see you. To know you’re all right.”

“I am sorry.” He stepped forward again, and took her freehand. “Someday, I will stay.”

Her mouth pulled into half of a smile. “You know as well as I do that day will never come. There will always be somewhere else you’re needed. And me— I’ll always be needed here. That’s just the way with us, isn’t it?”

“Maybe things won’t always be the same.” If they were, then this place would burn. Bridge Four would be lost, the Kholins— Renarin.

They were here now, and safe, and Kaladin had to force himself to believe that meant things  _ had  _ changed.

“Maybe.” She nodded, the twist of a smile fading off her face. “That would be nice.”

“It would.” Kaladin turned, and stood at Laral’s side looking at the camp, the Kholins, and Lopen. Elhokar was fussing over Renarin, getting only groans and concerns in return.

Kaladin watched, standing at a distance.

“They talk about you a lot,” said Laral.

“Oh,” he said.

Renarin and Elhokar were talking of Kholinar now, and Kaladin clenched a fist tight. Had Amaram now claimed their home?

He didn’t even notice Laral walking away.

“Hi, Mom,” said Syl.

“Sylphrena.” She joined Kaladin, standing aside and watching the others. “Your father will be here in a moment-- he’s nearly done with his rounds of the infirmary.”

The infirmary. Kaladin’s heart fluttered against his ribs. He could be a  _ surgeon _ again. Join his father, return to saving lives instead of taking them. “Are there many in the infirmary?”

“More than anyone would like,” said Hesina, “but not as many as there have been.”

They stood in silence. Renarin turned toward them, and smiled at Kaladin before returning to his conversation with Lopen.

Storms.

“What is it?” asked Hesina.

Kaladin fumbled with the knot in his chest. He moved to lay his head against his mother’s shoulder, and she put an arm around him.

“Mother,” he said, shutting his eyes, “I… I’m in love.”

Out loud, he felt like a fool. A child, blushing because someone smiled at him. He didn’t deserve for it to be love. How could he love someone he’d hurt so badly?

“The prince?”

“Renarin,” he said, words heavy on his tongue. “I’m in love with Renarin.”

“Of course you would fall in love with a Kholin,” she said. “You never could do anything small.”

“Kaladin?” Renarin called

He pulled away in an instant. “Yes?”

“Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine!”

Hesina was smiling. Kaladin grunted at her and rolled his eyes.

“What are you being so sulky for, gancho?” asked Lopen.

“I’m not sulky,” he said.

Renarin was watching, as he played with a rock in his hand. He didn’t say anything, but concern was written on his face.

Kaladin paused.

“You’re a dummy,” said Syl.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am.”  Kaladin glanced at his mother, trying to keep her from getting ideas. He walked over to the group and clapped Lopen on the shoulder.

They were alive, and they were safe. Best to enjoy that now, and sulk later.

Renarin stood at his side, and Kaladin took his hand. After a wide-eyed glance, Renarin laced their fingers together.

Hesina was grinning.

Kaladin stuck his tongue out at her. It didn’t mean anything… for now.

His fear could just wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end of Part One! Thank you guys for reading and your kudos and comments. I'll see you in January!
> 
> (Also, yes, we're just ignoring Lopen's arm because that was a bad decision. The one-armed Herdazian is eternal.)


	20. maybe i'm desperate and i've got no defenses

_part two_

_a moment that's held in your arms_

* * *

 

Lopen flung a piece of crab shell at Renarin’s nose, and Renarin ignored him.

“Hey, little cousin,” he asked, nudging Renarin. “You seem irritable lately.”

They sat in the sun, just outside the main tent, shelling two enormous buckets of crabs and cremlings. Over the fortnights he had spent in camp, Renarin had volunteered for this duty almost every day. He had volunteered for almost every duty. Time without making himself useful, with nothing to do with his hands, left him restless.

“I am not irritable.”

“Really? Because I would say you are…” Lopen leaned in and whispered, “very crabby.”

Renarin hit him with a cremling, then returned to shelling it.

“So,” Lopen said, after a moment. Renarin was doing most of the shelling, and Lopen most of the talking. “You and the captain have not been doing much talking about your adventures.”

“Not much to tell.” Renarin grabbed another crab and twisted. “We went north, I was an idiot and jumped into a river, Mevarem Roion tried to marry me, we fought Meridas Amaram, and then we made it here.”

“See, little cousin, I would say that is the definition of much to tell. I think you should be doing more telling.”

“I still don’t see why I’m your cousin.” Shell tossed aside, he grabbed another crab. “You haven’t declared the rest of Bridge Four your family.”

“We adopted Elhokar. Elhokar is your cousin, he is my cousin, you are now the Lopen’s cousin.” He slapped Renarin hard on the back. “Welcome to the family.”

“But does it have to be _little_ cousin?” Renarin raised his eyebrows. “I’m taller than you, Lopen.”

“You are very tall indeed, little cousin.”

“I hate you.” Renarin flicked a piece of cremling shell Lopen’s way.

“No one can hate the Lopen!”

Renarin took a crab and shoved it into Lopen’s hand. “Oh, can’t they?”

“Well,” he said, shrugging and beginning to shell, “not for long, at least.”

Silence always lasted briefly when Lopen was around, so Renarin savored what few moments he could get.

“So,” said Lopen. “This lady tried to marry you, did she?” He elbowed at Renarin, who said nothing. He didn’t want to think back to the cage of Kholinar, not now he was here. In this camp he breathed free, more a bridgeman than prince.

“Just goes to prove what I say.” Lopen grinned and clicked at Renarin. “The glowing. The ladies cannot resist the glowing.”

“No,” said Renarin, “it doesn’t, actually.”

Lopen threw a shell at him again. Renarin didn’t react.

“Mevarem Roion,” he said, slowly, “wanted to marry me to make her claim on the throne legitimate. Which would involve very little glowing or not being able to resist me, and a lot of keeping me locked up.”

He cracked a shell open, and scratched his hand on it.

“That does not sound good,” said Lopen.

Renarin snorted softly and kept shelling crabs.

“Still,” Lopen continued, “The glowing. The ladies. It is a fact.”

“I have heard this many times.”

“Many ladies! They say to me, ‘Oh Lopen. You are so handsome and glowing. You should kiss me now.’”

“No, they do not.”

“You know,” Lopen continued, waggling a finger at Renarin like a wise elder, “I do believe that Tesmeh finds you quite handsome and glowing.”

Tesmeh was one of many refugees. She was the eldest of her siblings, a few years younger than Renarin, and often minded the younger children of the camp. Her curiosity was strong, eager to explore the caves or question Kaladin and Renarin. Occasionally she’d stopped to watch his spear lessons, but Renarin was certain that it was either mere curiosity or interest in Kaladin.

“Lopen,” Renarin said, idly peeling off bits of crab shell, “You _do_ know I’m symmetrical.”

“The glowing and the men! It is also a fact.” Lopen sighed wistfully. “The captain…”

“Kaladin? What?” Renarin dropped the crab he was holding. “He’s not— of course he’s not— ”

“You have eyes, do you not, little cousin?”

“Without them, I would be a lamp.” Lopen frowned. “Light. Eyes. I’m lighteyes.”

He laughed, to be polite, of course. “And you _do_ like men.”

Renarin turned away and picked up the crab he had dropped. “I very much like men.”

“And Kaladin is coming over this moment!”

“He is not.”

“Hey, gancho!”

Renarin looked up. It was Kaladin, certainly.

“Hi.”

He had been practicing spear kata. He was shirtless. He was glistening.

Renarin felt his face go red, staring down into a bucket of crabs and trying to make that glorious image fade from his mind.

“Need any help?” asked Kaladin.

“No!” Renarin rushed to say. He was shelling crabs. Not thinking about Kaladin. Not looking at Kaladin. Not thinking about looking at Kaladin. “We’re fine. Thank you.”

“The prince and I were just discussing your adventures!” Damn Lopen. “Perhaps you are more willing to share with the Lopen what exactly it is you two got up to? I hear that somebody has jumped in a river, and I am very interested as to why, yet you do not tell me.”

“It was _there_ ,” Renarin muttered under his breath. He wished there was a river to jump into now. First Lopen wanted to discuss men, and now he brought up that mistake.

If Renarin had made a wiser choice— drawn his Blade, trusted in Kaladin, _anything_ else— they would never have been captured in Kholinar. Rock would never have been in danger, Kaladin would never have been caged.

“No,” Kaladin said, “I’m really not. Renarin, another lesson tonight?”

“Yes!” Somehow, Lopen would make that sound filthy enough to make Wit blush. Renarin coughed. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

He grunted, and long after he must have moved on, Renarin stayed silent. He could feel Lopen’s grin boring a hole in his head, just as the heat refused to leave his ears.

“The glowing,” repeated Lopen, “the men. The _captain_.”

“Well I— I _don’t_ …” Why was he lying? What did he fear?

“Oh, little cousin, all of us find the captain incredibly handsome,” said Lopen, slapping Renarin on the shoulder, “on account of the fact that he is incredibly handsome.” He leaned in closer. “To begin with, some of us believed you only came to Bridge Four because the captain is beautiful.”

“It wasn’t— it’s not _like that._ ” Some of it, yes. That bud of worshipping all Kaladin stood for had brought him to Bridge Four. Funny to think of that worship now, when it had blossomed into true and steady love. “It’s just… I…”

“Want to get him in bed?” He grinned, eyebrows waggling.

“Well.” Renarin pulled away and finished shelling the crab in his hands. He was bleeding. When had that happened? Lopen was still staring at him, with his infuriating eyebrows. “Yes.”

Lopen cackled. Renarin ignored him, and went on shelling crabs.

“I take it then,” Lopen said, leaning back, “that despite all those _cold_ and _lonely_ nights together on the road…”

“None of your business.”

“You did?”

“No.”

Lopen laughed again, and clapped Renarin on the shoulder. “Then we are suffering together! We had a betting pool, you know. Most of the bets were on his spear, I believe…”

“Betting on his spear… for what?” Renarin blinked. Did he want to know?

“To be the only thing that could possibly share the Captain’s bed. He is terribly oblivious to flirting, you know.” Lopen nodded gravely. “A tragedy.”

Renarin blinked a few more times. “Which end?”

Lopen’s laughter was raucous and unending. Renarin covered his ears and shot a glance until he was finally safe. Then, Lopen spoke again. “You did not do so badly yourself.”

“Badly at what?” Did he want to know? He braced for a joke on spears and their butts, though he wasn’t sure where _he_ came in there.

“There were good odds on you.”

“On me.”

“Yes. On your end.”

Renarin stared for a moment, then returned to shelling crabs.

“The captain _is_ so terribly taken with you these days.” He poked Renarin’s nose with a claw before throwing it away. A look from Renarin, and he took another one to shell.

“It’s hardly like _that_.”

“Oh? You have gone redder, little cousin, and I did not think that was possible.”

“I sincerely doubt that Kaladin would ever…” It was a sentence, despite Lopen’s encouraging eyebrow waggles, Renarin couldn’t finish. He growled instead. “Perhaps we could stop having this conversation.”

For a while, it worked. Then a thoughtful look came over Lopen’s face.

“Have you ever seen,” he said slowly, “him pulling back his hair when all the little curly bits stick to his neck?”

Renarin breathed slowly. “Or the way he tosses his hair once he unties it.”

“The _look_ on his face when he does one of those fancy spinny spear kata.”

“How _happy_ he looks when he’s flying.”

“The glowing.”

Renarin sighed and reached for another crab. “The glowing,” he agreed.

 

~

 

The spear fell from Kaladin’s hand, and in an instant his opponent’s was pressed to his ribs.

He didn’t fight it. He just smiled. “You won.”

“Actually,” said Renarin, “I don’t think I have.”

Sometimes, in their lessons, he would try to let Renarin win. It never worked.

Kaladin shoved up on Renarin’s spear. Not enough to break Renarin’s grip, and only a slight stumble in balance. Good. Just enough of a distraction to let Kaladin drop and roll for his spear.

They danced.

Kaladin had sparred with better partners than Renarin, just as inexperienced but closer matches for him. He and Renarin weren’t a perfect fit, but they were good. They were quick, spiraling footwork over the rocky ground.

“It’s a spear,” Kaladin said, blocking a slash and peeking at Renarin, “not a sword.”

Renarin quickly took the words to heart. He jabbed at Kaladin’s shoulder. It left his arms in an awkward position, but he twirled before Kaladin could take advantage of that.

“Good,” he called with a smile, moving in on the attack.

The ground skidded beneath Renarin’s feet as he backed away. They marched to the cold wooden beat of their spears, arms moving in a regimented drill. It wouldn’t take much for Kaladin to get his advantage now.

Renarin stepped forward.

Kaladin adjusted himself. Their spears locked, straining against each other.

Renarin’s weakness was an inability to give in to instinct. He was analytic, constantly conscious of all that was going on around him. Each block or parry took just a fraction longer than it should have. Out of insecurity or fear, Renarin wouldn’t trust intuition. Kaladin was all intuition, and he only wished he could teach it.

The ground gave way.

Renarin, he’d swear, was first to skid and fall. The few moments before the ground were a tangle of panic and limbs. They lay for a moment, unarmed, Kaladin’s elbow on Renarin’s nose.

Renarin raised his hand and gently removed Kaladin’s elbow with one finger.

“I’d say the ground won.”

Kaladin snorted his agreement. He rolled off of Renarin, sat up, and arranged himself.

“Oh.” Renarin gasped softly. He pulled his knees under himself, and leaned in. His hand brushed gently, too gently, against Kaladin’s cheek. “That looks deep.”

He could feel the cut now, stinging a little at Renarin’s fingertips. It ran along his cheekbone, about as long as his thumb.

“I’m fine,” Kaladin said, pulling away. He still felt a phantom of Renarin’s hand on his cheek, and had to stare intently at the horizon. “Let’s get back to camp.”

“I’m sorry,” said Renarin, and the softness of it strangled Kaladin’s breath. He reached out to touch again. “I should have been paying better attention.”

“It was an accident. I’ve had worse sparring before, and I will again. So will you.” Eyes downcast, desire in his pulse, Kaladin still pulled away. When he looked up again, Renarin had stood and gathered their spears.

Without words, he stood and turned back to camp. He would wait for his father to bandage the wound, since he’d insist on rebandaging it anyway. It wouldn’t be a long wait. His parents were sure to still be at work, but he shared their tent. The cut could wait.

Renarin turned from him with a lingering “goodnight” and “I’m sorry” when they reached camp. He was with Elhokar. They didn’t come to each other with nightmares here the way they had in Kholinar. Kaladin was grateful for that. Badly as he wanted Renarin in his arms, often as he lied awake wondering if Renarin was having nightmares, he couldn’t have borne it.

He pulled the canvas of the tent aside and walked slowly to his place at the back. It was nothing more than his pack and a few blankets, a corner barely large enough for him. Kaladin lay down, curled defensively on his side, and draped a blanket over himself as he waited.

Renarin’s hand on his cheek. For the most part, he could ignore the moments and the thoughts and the feelings, but this was too strong. It choked him with warmth. Feelings and words threatened to be free, to be _said_.

“He loves you too, you know,” Syl said. She sat folded on his shoulder, leaning in, speaking gently. “Glys told me, and you can trust a spren.”

He looked at her.

“Not that you’d believe me. I know you better than that, Kaladin Stormblessed.” She sighed, blowing a curl from her face. “You could tell him. You could be happy.”

“Until I lose him too.” It was only clutching at everything he had to think saying it would make a difference.

He loved Renarin.

And so he would lose him.

“Lopen and Elhokar are still here. Rock’s safe. There’s hope, Kaladin. You have to keep believing that. Renarin’s good for you, and you’re good for him too.”

“I can’t…” He reached his hand out, searching for the words. “I can’t tempt fate, Syl. Not yet. I’m not ready.”

“I just want you to be happy.”

He looked up at her. “I know. I’m not ready.”

Kaladin pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Renarin had given it to him, one of those they’d brought from Urithiru. They’d slept under this blanket together, and before that it had been on Renarin’s bed.

Sometimes, he’d been desperate enough that he would hold it to his face to see if it smelled like Renarin. Things were meant to smell like people. But he didn’t even know what Renarin smelled like, and the blanket only smelled like a blanket.

“Someday, Renarin will smile, or he’ll be in tears, or worst of all he’ll be kind, and I won’t be able to help but tell him. I’m sure. And… then, maybe.”

Maybe Renarin could love him in turn. Maybe Kaladin wasn’t too damaged for this. Maybe they could survive, two lost soldiers at the end of the world.

He knew he had to hope.

~

Laral didn’t know what to do.

All she could feel was distant anxiety, all-consuming but seen through a haze. Nothing could quite touch her. Things had been that way for a long time. She was used to it.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Hesina grumbled as they stepped out of the tent. “I don’t think you said a word today.”

They held meetings on how to run the camp— first only Lirin, Hesina, and Laral. King Elhokar had insisted on joining them, and now Kaladin and Prince Renarin as well.

“You seemed to have everything well in hand,” Laral said, casting her eyes down and tugging at her blouse. “What was I needed for?”

“That’s a dangerous way to think.” Hesina stopped, putting herself in front of Laral. “You’ve been invaluable, Brightness. No Kholin changes that.”

“I just didn’t have anything to say.” She combed her hair forward, head angled away from Hesina’s gaze. “You don’t need to let it bother you.”

“It’s my job to be concerned about you.”

“The community is your job.”

“And you’re a part of that, Laral.” She put a hand on Laral’s arm. “I know you. You’re a strong and intelligent woman, but now you talk as though you’re irrelevant.”

She shrugged and stepped away from Hesina’s touch. An explanation, and Hesina would only pity her. Advice would be offered, hair smoothed and a kiss on the forehead. Laral would be treated like an open wound, and she wasn’t that. She was numb scar tissue.

“You’ve been a daughter to Lirin and I, you know,” Hesina said. She was quiet, and didn’t stop Laral when she started to walk away.

Scrambling on the rocks, her dress blowing in the wind. Laughter and scraped knees. She’d been so alive, once. Why had becoming a woman taken that from her? This death wasn’t new. She’d been slowly dying for years.

“I know,” said Laral, feet steady on the ground.

“You can always come to me with any problem. No matter what it is. I can’t promise I’ll always be able to help, but I’ll try.”

“I know.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she knew anything at all. How could you talk when you had no words? There was only the knowledge of her hollowness.

“The roof,” Hesina said.

“Pardon?”

“You might,” she said, turning to leave, “find some help if you sat on a roof.”

Hesina left, and Laral stood there in stillness.

Kaladin had always liked to sit on roofs.


	21. even though it was never meant to be

“Kaladin!” she called.

He turned to face Laral. Under the moon and stars, there were thin strands of silver running through her hair. It was so short, above her chin. He thought that was part of why he couldn’t recognize this woman.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” Her callused hands picked at the pleats of her skirt. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.” He raised a hand to his neck, tilting his head and looking to her out the corner of his eye. “What did you want to say?”

She looked around. The camp was empty, eerie dark and silence.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, words slow and eyes downcast. Slowly, her head lifted. “You’ve stayed.”

“I’ve stayed,” he agreed. Why had he? What kept him here? There was peace, yes, but that wasn’t enough to keep him for long. There was work to be done, and peace was too fragile to trust.

“I didn’t think you would,” Laral said, almost speaking to herself. She looked up at him suddenly. “What if we tried… we were supposed to marry, remember? We could try that again.”

Kaladin stepped back. “Court?” he asked.

“If you like.”

She was staring at him. He’d been expected to marry Laral once, but that had been so many lifetimes ago.

“I thought… I thought you…”

“I know I… I made mistakes. Trust me, there's been enough time for me to regret them thoroughly.” She smiled, a bitter smile. “I just… I thought maybe we could try to make things right.”

Kaladin said the first thing that came into his head. “I’m already courting someone.”

“Oh.” Laral stepped back, casting her eyes down again. “I didn’t— I’m sorry— Prince Renarin?”

“Yes,” he lied, cursing himself.

“Of course,” she murmured. Then Laral looked up, standing primly. “Well,” she said. “I wish both of you the very best.”

“And you,” Kaladin said. He turned, then, on some impulse, turned back to face her. “I’m sorry, Laral.”

“What?”

“I’m just… sorry.” Kaladin gestured to everything. “I’m sorry we stopped being friends. I’m sorry all of this happened to you. I’m sorry for being what I am, and not the Kaladin you wish had returned for you. You deserve more than I can offer, and you always have.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears, and he saw the darkness under her eyes. Laral wore weariness like a tattered cloak, clinging to it, yet ashamed.

“And you deserve… Prince Renarin, I suppose.” She smiled. “I _do_ hope you’re very happy.”

“You be happy too,” he said.

She turned away then, nodding a weak acknowledgement. Kaladin was left standing there, trying desperately to understand.

 

~

 

“I don’t like this,” said Syl.

Kaladin pulled his face out of his pillow and narrowed his eyes at her. “You don’t like _anything_. What is it this time?”

“That is gross slander, and you know it. I like sunny days and the smell of soap and Rock and when you forget to be grumpy about things.” Syl folded her arms, floating in the air above him. “You _do_ know that you can’t exactly be courting Renarin without _asking_ him first?”

“I’m not courting Renarin.”

His head sunk back into the pillow. Something about the lie was making him shaky, like the nervous young soldier he’d never been. The last thing he needed was Syl’s interrogation.

“Why did you lie to her?”

“I just _panicked_ , Syl.” He rolled over, stretching his arms over his head. “I don’t know why I said. It was out of my mouth before I realized.”

“Lying is wrong, you know.” Syl sat cross-legged on the pillow with him. “You’re going to have to tell Laral the truth.”

“Oh, yes, because that will go over so well.” Kaladin groaned. “ ‘Oh, Laral, you know how last night I told you I was courting Prince Renarin? Well, actually I’m not, that was just a lie because I’m not interested in _you_.’ ”

“Well, what else are you going to do? I _know_ you won’t suddenly find the courage to go ask Renarin out.” She huffed and tossed her head. “I’ll go with you, so I can explain how you just blurted out something you _wish_ was true but you’re too much of a sodden chicken to actually do it.”

“I’m not going to tell her.” His arms folded down to cover his eyes. He couldn’t ask Syl to understand this, not when he didn’t, but couldn’t she leave well enough alone?

“You can’t just go on lying to people. It isn’t right.”

“I know it’s not.”

“So, you’ll tell her the truth.”

“No, I won’t.” He could… he could pretend. It wouldn’t be hard. After all, Mevarem Roion had been convinced…

What had made him think of her? Kaladin rolled onto his side, biting back sickly bile. Mevarem Roion had been a disgusting, stupid woman, and her eyes staring down at him were burned into his memory.

“Well, why not?”

He let out a shallow breath, trying not to feel a perfectly manicured hand grasping his jaw.

Think instead of Laral, this strange sullen woman who’d replaced the willful child. Think of Renarin, his gentle hand on Kaladin’s wound.

“Because I don’t know the truth yet,” he said. His eyes closed shut and he pulled Renarin’s blanket closer. “I know Renarin, but I don’t know… I don’t know how I feel about Laral, and I never did. She deserves to hear that truth, and I can’t give it to her.”

“Hmm.” Syl stepped on his shoulder, using her powers to make his blankets a little heavier. “I still don’t like this.”

“Get in line,” he said.

She pressed an almost motherly kiss to his cheek. “I guess I can let it slide for a little while, but you _are_ going to have to tell her.”

“Not if I die first.”

“Kaladin!”

“It’s a joke, Syl.” He sighed. “I’ll tell her. I promise. Once I know. Is that good enough?”

“It’ll do,” she said.

Figure out how he felt about Laral. Maybe it would be easier just to go and ask Renarin to court.

 

~

 

While the tea was boiling, Hesina rubbed a scarf against her cheek. Her heel went _tap tap tap_ on the ground as her leg bounced.

“Oh,” said Renarin.

“What is it?” asked Kaladin.

It was a cold evening, but huddled around the boiling pot they were warm. Kaladin was sitting beside Renarin, Hesina to one side, and across from them Laral.

“I… uh.” Renarin reached out his hands to warm them, pretending he wasn’t watching Hesina. Her eyes didn’t dart around in fear— she seemed _normal_ , even as she did Renarin things.

Normal people didn’t do Renarin things. Nobody did.

He shrugged, a little too broadly, and crossed his legs as he leaned back in the chair. Kaladin’s hesitant arm draped across his shoulders. Renarin jumped, looking to Kaladin who wouldn’t turn his gaze from the distant wall.

Renarin settled back down, trying to ignore Kaladin’s hand on his shoulder.

Hesina’s foot went on _tap tap tap._

There were a few rocks in his pocket, and Renarin shoved his hands there. It looked normal— though Hesina didn’t, so perhaps..? He rolled them between his fingers, trying to place thoughts.

“Try this,” said Hesina, leaning to hand him her scarf. Renarin blinked up at her, shying back into Kaladin’s arm.

He took it with shaking hands. It was achingly _soft_ and he rubbed it between his fingers a few times, too afraid to bury his face in the cloth.

“Oh,” Hesina said, smiling, “so you’re not like Lirin either, are you?”

“Not… what?”

“It’s what we call it in our family,” said Kaladin. “Since Mom and… and Tien and I all are. Were.”

“He got very annoyed when I tried to explain we were—” Hesina shrugged, wiggling her hands noncommittally. “Different. ' _No_ , Mother, it’s _Father_ who’s different.' ”

“Different?” Renarin looked around, bunching the scarf up in his twitching hands. “Like— like _me?_ ”

“You didn’t know,” Kaladin said. He pulled his arm away. “Storms. I’m sorry, Renarin.”

“There are people _like me_?” He curled inward, oddly defensive against this— this— this concept that made the world kinder. “But— Kaladin, you’re not strange.”

Laral snorted.

“Aren’t I?”

Renarin looked up. There was a pen in Kaladin’s mouth, which he wiggled slightly before going back to chewing it.

“Where did you..?”

“Stole it from me,” Laral sighed. “I’d ask for it back, but who knows where your mouth’s been?”

Kaladin shrugged, and Renarin rubbed the fabric between his fingers.

“We feel things differently,” Hesina said, her voice gentle and motherly. “Too much, or not as much. We have all-consuming passion they can’t understand.”

“Routines,” Renarin whispered.

“I love routines,” said Kaladin.

“And— and— the talking…” He nearly laughed. “Like-this talking!”

“Like-this talking!” Hesina laughed. “You’re one of us, Prince Renarin.”

His hands moved to bury his head in the scarf. It smelled of soap and tea, so soft he couldn’t help but rub against it.

“You thought you were the only one,” Kaladin said.

“I thought— I thought…”

Renarin hugged himself tight, swiftly rocking his chair so fast it threatened to go flying.

Someone tapped his shoulder.

“Out of the chair before you fall into the fire,” Hesina said, arms wide.

He leapt into the embrace, spinning her around and sweeping her off her feet. Hesina laughed, holding on so tight he could feel the hug in his bones. It was _enough_. So many thought he needed a light touch, to be handled delicately, but he hated every touch that wasn’t deep enough.

He wasn’t sure if he was laughing or weeping, but Hesina squirmed side to side with him.

“Go run some laps,” she said, pulling away and bouncing on her heels. “Kaladin, why don’t you race him?”

Renarin copied Hesina’s bounces as Kaladin stood and pulled the pen from his mouth.

“I’ll call you back in when the tea’s ready.” She shooed them out. “Both of you are _entirely_ too happy. Come back when you can sit still.”

Renarin bolted out of the tent.

 

~

 

“He eats spheres,” Laral told Renarin.

Kaladin groaned. “That was once.”

“You were twelve years old!”

“It wasn’t eating, because I didn’t swallow.” He sipped his tea, scalding his tongue.

“You bit it, then.” Laral leaned back and folded her arms. “You’d eat dirt, though.”

“Yes,” said Kaladin, “when I was six. You did it too.”

“I ate my brother’s sock,” Renarin said thoughtfully.

“Only one?” Hesina asked. She sipped her tea. “His poor cold foot.”

“You’re right.” He nodded at her, taking a drink of tea. “I should have eaten the pair.”

They went on talking, and Kaladin’s mind wandered. He could feel the warmth of Renarin’s joy, a reminder of their undeniable connection. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t escape Renarin.

“Er,” Renarin said, putting his tea down, “I have to… go… er…”

“Pee?” suggested Hesina.

He blinked. “That, yes.”

Renarin stood. Kaladin caught a glimpse of Laral watching him, and without thinking he caught Renarin’s arm and pulled him for a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you,” Renarin mumbled after he pulled away, and quickly left the tent.

Everything was silent.

“I should go,” Laral said suddenly, and then she left too.

Silence continued. Hesina raised an eyebrow.

“I might have… uh. Laral suggested… and I panicked. So I told her… Renarin and I…”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Does he know you told her?”

“…No.”

“Well, that’s very stupid of you.”

“I know.” Kaladin groaned and slumped in his chair.

“Sit up straight, dear,” Hesina said idly. She sipped at her tea.

With a sigh he obeyed, pulling a leg under him. “I’m scared, mother.”

“More scared of being in love than the world ending?” She smiled at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Laral wants more than I can give her, and… I wish I could. I wish things could be simple, and we could go back to the life you planned for us as children.”

She reached her hand for his arm, looking at him with a mother’s smile.

“I don’t think I can stay here.” Kaladin looked to his mother. “I can’t keep on hiding from this war. There _have_ to be more of my men out there, Renarin’s family, people who are _mine_ to protect. I know the work here is important, but it isn’t enough. I’m suffocating.”

“My son.” Her smile tightened. She poured more tea into his cup. “Do what you have to. If you must, then leave. Your father and I will care for things here, and hope someday you see fit to come home once again.”

He took her hand. “Thank you.”

They held hands tight. Hesina pulled away first, returning to her cup of tea as if nothing had happened. “And the prince?”

“Mother,” Kaladin groaned.

“I think he would make a quite fine son-in-law for your father and I, don’t you?”

“Mother.”

“You made a good choice, you know. Tall, clever, not like your father, does his chores eagerly, and a wonderful sense of humor.”

“ _Mother._ ”

Hesina crossed her legs. “Dumb as a bag of cremlings, of course, but you’re a fine match on that front. Just as stupid and just as obviously besotted.”

Kaladin blushed. “Mother!”


	22. there's a feast waiting for you and you've never even gotten a taste

Renarin took a spear to the nose. He held his hands to his face, bleeding, laughing.

“Let me see.” Kaladin stepped in, dropping his spear. He pushed Renarin’s hand aside and felt, gently, at his nose. “It’s not broken. Just a nosebleed.”

“Shame. I’ve always wanted a broken nose.”

“Your nose is nice the way it is.” He had a hand on Renarin’s face, resting on his cheek. Kaladin held still. “Not,” he said slowly, “that it wouldn’t look fine crooked. It adds character, they say.”

“Your nose is crooked.” Renarin’s words were just as slow, just as measured. He was leaning slightly into Kaladin’s touch.

“It is.”

“I like it.” He pulled away, turning awkwardly to face the ground.

Kaladin wiped his hand against his shirt. “It hurts like Damnation while it’s healing.”

“I suppose it would. I suppose it also makes breathing a bit complicated.” Renarin rocked softly, shifting his balance from heel to toe. The nosebleed was slowing. “It was just one of those foolish things children get into their heads sometimes. I thought a broken nose would show I was strong.”

“You _are_ strong.” Kaladin bent to retrieve his spear. “You don’t need your nose to prove that.”

He ran his hands along the spear, taking comfort in the texture of the wood. Renarin hummed, not agreement but not willing to be argument. The air was full of things unsaid, or Syl waiting in anticipation.

The things that would have to be said were too vast, too fragile, too intoxicating. The words were too big for his tongue, the thoughts too much to even allow in his heart.

Even a storm that loved you was still a storm.

Kaladin took a step back. He would tell Renarin he was leaving, and in the morning he would gone. He would be alone in darkness, but that was familiar. Maybe being with Renarin was better, but it was also so much more, and after so long with nothing it was easier to bear darkness.

He heard footsteps, felt a hand on his arm, and didn’t have time to think. The kiss was over before it began, Renarin backing away and pulling his arms over his head.

“I’m leaving,” Kaladin said. Maybe if he didn’t acknowledge it. Maybe— “In the morning. I’m going to do what I can to find Bridge Four and your family.”

He could still taste Renarin’s nosebleed, still feel rough chapped lips catching against his. They had pressed against him softly, and he knew he’d pressed back.

“Oh,” said Renarin. He stared at the horizon, wiping at his nose. “I’m coming, then.”

“What?” Getting away from Renarin was part of why he needed to do this. If he walked away in time, maybe Renarin could survive. “You can’t.”

“I have to.” His voice was quiet when he spoke again. “I can’t wait any longer either.”

“You’re _safe_ here.” He was clinging to that thought desperately.

“I was safe in Kholinar when the war began. I was safe in the warcamps away from the battlefield. I can’t live with being safe any longer.” He looked at Kaladin, blood smeared across his face. “In Kholinar, didn’t we swear to stay together whether we lived or died? I swear it to you again. You are my captain, and—”

“For all you say I’m your captain, you never—” Kaladin froze. No. “I’m sorry, Renarin. I forgot myself.”

Renarin reached a hand behind his back, grabbing at his other arm. His gaze fell to the ground. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t demand things of you this way.”

Kaladin stepped forward, letting his hand rest on Renarin’s shoulder— no more. “You can demand _this_ ,” he said. His fear was screaming, but Renarin would rather be dead than caged. Wasn’t he the same way?

“I only…” Renarin swayed into the touch. “The war began, and my father and brother left, and all I could do was burn prayers. I couldn’t bear the thought of that life again, not now.”

“Sometimes I forget you’re more than something to protect,” Kaladin said. Words were churning through his mind, his heart pounding, and he could have pulled Renarin into his arms and kissed his rough, bloody lips. “I’m sorry. Come with me.”

They were still for a moment, and Kaladin wavered. He almost spoke, he almost kissed. Something held him back.

Renarin pulled away with an awkward forced cough. “We’d better get sleep,” he said, “if we’re going to be travelling tomorrow. Thank you for the lesson. And the bloody nose. And for letting me come with you. I’m sorry for arguing.”

“You were right,” said Kaladin, clenching the hand still warm from touching Renarin. “Never apologize for that.”

They walked back to the camps and parted in silence. Kaladin buried his face in Renarin’s blanket, cradling it close to himself.

He dreamed of death, and Renarin’s lips.


	23. you can't hide on the inside all the pain you've ever felt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is weirdly late but I was travelling for Jordancon today! I ended up waving at Brandon because he was going in the hotel right as I was heading out for dinner.

“I’m coming,” said Elhokar, attempting to look regal.

“I’m sorry,” said Renarin, looking deeply uncomfortable.

“I’m eating,” said Kaladin, taking another spoonful of porridge.

Fine, then. If Elhokar wanted to come along, then he could. At least it meant Kaladin could keep an eye on him.

“What are you sorry for?” Elhokar asked.

What’s more, Elhokar could keep an eye on Kaladin. If Elhokar was there, he couldn’t give in to the giddy emotions that said to kiss Renarin. Again. He would be a chaperone, of some sort.

“If Kaladin had wanted to take a group, he could have asked for one.”

Or, he could just kiss Renarin.

“You can go, and not me? I’m older than you.”

Renarin was right there, rolling his eyes. It was exaggerated and deliberate. Kaladin looked down into his porridge and held back a smile.

“You can’t just hold that over me forever!”

“I’m going to be older than you forever, so yes, I can.”

He growled, spearing a sausage on his fork.

“I’ve got more experience than you,” Elhokar said softly. “I want to see our family again, and I want to protect you, Renarin.”

Renarin set his jaw a little stronger. “This really is all up to Kaladin.”

“I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t.” Kaladin considered his porridge. He could hear Syl’s mockery already. No being Mr. Sulky Sulks for you, Kaladin Stormblessed.

Wherever he went, people would follow him.

“Oh,” said Renarin. He ignored Elhokar as he turned to his breakfast.

“Thank you,” said the king. He sat up a little straighter, smiling and giving a decisive nod. “Where are we going, then?”

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He had no idea where the others might have run.

Elhokar watched, waiting. He expected an answer.

“South,” Kaladin said, because it was as good a direction as any. Most of Alethkar was to the south.

Elhokar had probably expected a better answer, but thank the Almighty he accepted the one Kaladin had.

“I’ll go prepare so I won’t delay you,” he said, standing.

“I will prepare as well!”

Lopen stuck his head in the tent, beaming from ear to ear.

“Eavesdropping is rude, Lopen,” Renarin said lightly, and ate another spoonful of porridge.

“I am a very rude person.”

“That you are.” Elhokar exited, and Lopen entered.

“Fine,” said Kaladin. “You can come. I can’t stop you. Go get ready or we’ll leave without you.”

“Daring adventures, just like the old days. Right, captain?” Lopen grinned, and ducked out of the tent again.

That left Kaladin alone with Renarin.

“I apologize for bringing it up,” said Renarin, stirring at his porridge, “but just to be clear, we’re never going to speak of my kissing you again?”

“Never. Absolutely never.” Syl blew his hair in his eyes. He glared up, so she sat on the table, arms folded disapprovingly. “As far as I’m concerned, it never happened.”

“And the same goes for me.” Renarin paused. “The weather is nice for a trip.”

“It is.” He spooned at his porridge, not taking a bite. “Nice breakfast.”

“It is.” Renarin nodded. He was playing with his food too.

He wanted to lean across the table and kiss Renarin gently, when his mouth wouldn’t taste of blood. He wanted to let the words spill out and confess everything, and then kiss again.

And then what?

“I’m sorry about all this. You wanted to be alone, and…” Renarin gestured with the half-sausage on his fork.

“I’ve never been good at being alone.” Kaladin needed, needed desperately. He wished he were stronger, but he depended on those fragile lives surrounding him. “You did the right thing. I was a fool to think you could stay behind, and a fool to think I’d survive alone.”

There was a long silence. Renarin’s fingers gently tapped out a rhythm on the table.

“I’m sorry about my cousin, then.”

Kaladin snorted. The tapping of his spoon fell into the rhythm Renarin had set.

“You’re more…” Kaladin tapped his fingers and looked up at Renarin.

“Well, you and your mother…” Renarin tilted his head and tapped with a smile.

“Yeah.” He wriggled slightly. All this time among other people, a soldier or a slave, he’d forgotten how to be himself. Seeing Renarin learn was reminding him.

He kept thinking about what his mother had said. Besotted, Kaladin certainly was. As for Renarin… Damnation, what a fool.

When the porridge was gone, it was time to go. Renarin took the bowls and wiped them clean, he and Kaladin hefted their packs over their shoulders, and out of the tent they went.

There stood Elhokar and Lopen, speaking Herdazian at each other. By them stood Laral. She carried a pack too.

Kaladin shut his eyes. It didn’t feel worth arguing at this point. He didn’t even care.

They would always follow Kaladin, because he could be nothing but a leader. This was his truth, his destiny, and he couldn’t escape that. He was meant to be trying to move past his fears, meant to believe in a kinder world. Instead, he numbly accepted the echoing circles of his life.

“Let’s go, then,” he said, turning to the south and beginning to walk. They followed, Elhokar and Lopen still keeping up their conversation, Renarin just behind him, and Laral moving to his side.

Syl darted around him, and he tried not to look at her.

 

~

 

“So,” said Lopen, jogging toward Laral.

She rolled her eyes and walked at a faster pace. It was a game, an easy one. Lopen was himself, and she played the haughty Lady Wistiow. Laral liked being Lady Wistiow, more than she liked being Laral.

“It may surprise you to know, Brightness, but the Lopen… he is not so stupid. Not when it comes to a friend.”

Her step faltered.

“Each of us— we have had our dark days. It seems to me, yours are very dark now.”

“Nonsense.” Laral tugged at the straps of her pack. She’d grown strong in the rebuilding, carrying what had to be carried. It was rough work, but she liked it better than elegant writing. “I’ve never heard anything so presumptuous.”

“You have a beautiful ass.”

She stared and blinked for a second. “You _are_ a beautiful ass.”

“Did you hear that?” Lopen called to the others. “The Brightness has called me beautiful!”

“Shut up, Lopen,” Kaladin said.

“Now,” Lopen said to Laral, far too pleased with himself, “is that not now the most presumptuous thing you have heard?”

“The idea you could be beautiful? Yes, that’s certainly presumptuous.”

They walked in silence, lagging slightly behind the Kholins and— well, the Kholins. Kaladin might as well have been one.

“We are friends, are we not?” Though subdued, Lopen was still cheerful.

“Sadly, yes.” She sighed, looking up to the misty sky. The muscles of her legs ached, her feet were sore in their boots. “Do you know how many friends I have had in my life, Lopen?”

“Not enough.” He smiled at her.

“Three.” She nodded ahead. “Him, his brother— he’s dead. And you.” Laral let out a hollow laugh. “What does that say about me, do you think?”

“It says you are aloof and emotionally stunted.”

She turned to him. Lopen was absent his broad grin, absent a cheeky shrug.

“It is why we are such good friends, is it not? We have not grown up.”

“I’ve grown up,” she said, lips heavy. “Where do you get away with acting like you know me? You couldn’t— you don’t _know_.”

“You have not grown up,” he said, head tilted at her. “Brightness, you have only grown old.” Slowly, the grin returned to Lopen’s face. She watched out the corner of her eyes. “Lucky for you, the Lopen knows ways to fix that.”

“Ass.”

“And a beautiful one!” Lopen smiled. Laral turned her head away, walking a little faster. She didn’t like this, the way he seemed suddenly a man and not a boy.

Lopen matched her pace, refusing to let her escape, so she flicked him on the bottom.

“Oh, are we playing this game now, Brightness?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She held her hands primly before her, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“You know, this does not stop me from thinking that you are hurting, Laral.”

She stopped, and turned to him at last. Almighty, Lopen’s face was solemn.

“That’s your problem.”

Biting on her lip, she tugged on the straps of her pack and kept on walking.

 

~

 

Renarin insisted on first watch. Not that there was much to watch, only the last embers of the setting sun and a few cremlings scuttling, but Renarin insisted. Something to do, time to think. A way to keep himself from returning to Kaladin’s arms.

Just thinking about it made him sick. He hadn’t been replaced; he wasn’t anything _to_ replace. Renarin had never meant anything more than the closest person to care for. Now, there was someone more important. Now there was Laral.

He looked away from the camp, away from the smoldering embers of the fire, up at the stars. The blanket wrapped around his shoulders kept away the chill.

“How are you, little cousin?”

Renarin yelped and turned, jabbing his elbow toward the voice. Something hit.

“Ow,” Lopen complained, holding his nose and sitting beside Renarin. “I have just come to check on you.”

“I’m sorry, Lopen.” He stared at the ground. Idiot. Didn’t he know his own friend’s voice?

“You are on guard duty. You guarded. Good job.” He waited, expectantly, and Renarin avoided looking at him. “You are in a mood, little cousin.”

“I don’t have emotions. Common knowledge.”

“You can talk to the Lopen, little cousin.” He nudged against Renarin’s shoulder. “You are not usually so quiet.”

“I didn’t think it was possible to get quieter than I am, usually.” He took a deep breath. “Go to sleep, Lopen.”

“You see, you say that you are so quiet and emotionless, and yet I see a young man, usually, who is very witty and often very happy. It is _now_ that you are being quiet and emotionless, and it is unusual.”

“Perhaps you’ve only seen me before when I was being unusual.” Lopen nudged again. Renarin was unmoved. “Go to sleep, Lopen. Go to sleep.”

“Not until you tell me why it is you are in this mood.” He spread his hands. “Little cousin, we are a family. Families speak with each other about these things.”

“They don’t, as far as I’ve seen.” Renarin took a deep breath. “It’s so stupid, Lopen. Terribly stupid.”

“Well, I am very stupid, so you can tell me.”

He shut his eyes. Lopen, he could tell, was still staring at him. Renarin let out his breath and gestured emphatically. “ _Kaladin._ ”

“Kaladin,” agreed Lopen, leaning back.

“Do you… do you think he…” Renarin bit his lip. Too many words, too many thoughts.

“He what? I think many things about him. I think he is only pretending he does not like chouta.”

Renarin took another breath, leaning forward, head in his hands. “Brightness Wistiow. I think… I think they… she has no other reason to be coming on this trip but to be with him. You and I and Elhokar had to argue our way along, but she simply… showed up.”

“Ah.” Lopen patted Renarin on the head. “You think she has gotten him in bed?”

“More like gotten in his heart.” He didn’t like to think or speak about such things, neither hearts nor beds. It got awkward.

“Perhaps.” Lopen nodded. “I believe you may be right. But…” He touched Renarin gently on the tip of the nose. “You may also be completely wrong.”

“That’s very helpful, Lopen.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Lopen leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. “It could be many things, and I could be madly in love with Elhokar. Possibility is a great deal more interesting than certainty. There is no need to worry yourself with a possibility, Renarin.”

“There’s no need, and yet it seems I’ll do it anyway.” He massaged at his temples, wincing as he tried not to flail around. Calm down, Renarin. “That’s more than a possibility, it’s likely.”

“A likely possibility,” Lopen corrected.

“If you use that word one more time, I’ll hit you again.”

“Ah.” Lopen poked Renarin on the shoulder. “Here is the young prince I am familiar with. He’s a very playful fellow.”

“I’m not playing, I’m irritated.”

“Ah, they are the same thing for one speaking with me.”

He said nothing for a while, leaving Renarin to press on his forehead and be irritated. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about Kaladin. Think about Kaladin. Feel about Kaladin. All of it was aching through his mind. _Calm down_ , Renarin.

“I kissed Kaladin,” he blurted out.

That got Lopen’s attention. He sat up. “How was it?”

Of course. “Bloody.”

“Hmm. Interesting.”

Renarin sighed deeply. “We agreed never to speak of it again, but…”

“You cannot stop thinking about it, and thinking has been known to lead to speaking.” Lopen draped his arm around Renarin. “A first kiss?”

“I’ve only kissed horses.”

“On the mouth?”

“Near the mouth.”

“Good. I would be very concerned if you were kissing horses on the mouth.” He put an arm around Renarin’s shoulder and gestured into the distance. “This, you see, is the way with kisses. The first is always awkward, and unpleasant. Not usually bloody, but always for a long time, you can think of nothing else. The only cure I know of is to have more kisses.”

“I’m not going to kiss you, Lopen.”

“You are very clever. It is very annoying.” Lopen grinned. “It is helpful, though, if you do find a person you would care to kiss. Perhaps even Kaladin again. It is a possibility.”

“Please stop using that word, or there is every possibility I will hit you again.” Renarin took a moment, then forced a smile. He did feel better. A bit. Lopen was unconventional with comfort, but effective.

“I am just trying to be helpful.” He patted Renarin’s back again before pulling away. “I can assure you, kissing will get a great deal more pleasant. Less bloody, unless you enjoyed that part. Then it can be more bloody. However bloody you like.”

“Can we still be friends?” He turned to Lopen. “Now that I’ve kissed him, can we still be friends, or..?”

“I have kissed many of my friends. It happens.” Lopen shrugged. “I do not see anything so small coming between you and the captain for long. Two kisses, perhaps, but one never did any harm.”

“Then I’ll make sure I never kiss him again.” The words were quiet, mostly to himself, but Lopen laughed at them anyway. “Why’s that funny?”

“A resolution I have made myself many times.” He patted Renarin on the back again and stood. “More difficult than you believe.”

“I believe it’s going to be difficult.” He took a deep breath. “Less with Elhokar around, though. And Brightness Wistiow, of course…”

“You can manage.” He smiled. “And perhaps if you don’t, it will be for the best anyway!”

“He doesn’t love me, Lopen.”

“Who said anything about love?” He paused, then sat down again. “You?”

“Glys, and Syl.” He wanted to rip the stars from the sky, and offer them to Kaladin in his bleeding hands. He ached to be the one holding Kaladin, the one who kept him safe. Renarin, unworthy Renarin, burned with endless desire to have and to give. Nothing of it would leave his mind. Not a word would be said. Certainly, not to Lopen.

It consumed his whole being, but to say _I love Kaladin Stormblessed_ would make it unstoppable.

“Love, I am less helpful with.”

“You were helpful in the first place?” Renarin forced a smile.

“I did not come here to be insulted.” Lopen grinned back. He took a moment, then gave Renarin a warm hug. “If you ever want to discuss kissing and such things, the Lopen is wise in these matters. Love… that he is less wise in, but he will listen.”

Lopen stood up, still smiling. He put a hand to Renarin’s shoulder. “Good night, little cousin.”

He nodded, looking out to the stars. “Good night, Lopen.”

Lopen was snoring like a chasmfiend when Kaladin woke to take the next watch. They nodded at each other, keeping their distance, not touching.

As Renarin nestled himself in his nest of blanket, he watched Kaladin’s silhouette in the firelight.

His words were a bare whisper. “I would have kept watch.”


	24. how you feel and who you're thinking of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's late! Getting home from Jordancon was exhausting.

Maybe it had been a stupid idea, but Kaladin woke with Renarin nestled to his chest.

He took a slow breath, not opening his eyes. There were a few sounds, perhaps those of cautious early risers. Best to keep silent, not let on that he was awake yet. Perhaps it would have been best to move away now, that Renarin would never know. It would have served its purpose, making it seem to the others— to Laral— as if…

Kaladin sighed and buried his face in Renarin’s hair. After Kholinar, it had been soft, smelling of soap and perfume. Now it was rough, and smelled of sweat.

Renarin made soft noises. He was drooling on Kaladin’s shirt.

“Disgusting,” said Laral.

She was eating something as she tended the fire. Every so often the sparks would pop as she poked it.

Storms, he was tired of living in fear. Would that much change if he just admitted he had told Laral the truth? It might as well be truth, with how little would make it real. Now more people were following his folly, risking their lives. How would they feel if he admitted this wasn’t some grand heroic quest? He’d just failed at running away.

Renarin stretched and rolled into Kaladin, shoving them both to the side. He kicked at the blankets, which already had fallen mostly aside.

“…Good morning, Kaladin.”

His eyes shot open to see Renarin sitting up, shying back and rubbing at the corner of his mouth.

“Uh. Good morning.”

“Good morning, Prince Renarin,” said Laral, flatly. “Good morning, Kaladin.”

Kaladin rolled over, pushing the tangled blankets off his waist. She was sitting by the fire sipping from a cup and picking at dried fruit, barefoot in her skirt and blouse. She’d changed both since the day before— Kaladin was suddenly self-conscious of how rarely he changed clothes.

“Good morning,” he said, sitting up and stretching wide. He reached over to ruffle Renarin’s hair, then stood and picked the blankets up. As he folded them and put them away, Kaladin was far too aware he was being watched.

Damnation. Caught between the pair of them like a caged _chicken,_ ogled at all sides.

“Good morning, Brightness,” Renarin said. He slowly reached his hand out, brushing it through Kaladin’s hair and giving a quick tousle. That done, he nodded and moved on, sitting by the fire across from Laral.

Kaladin took his time rifling through the pack, not sure what he would do next. He was meant to lead, and while it was easy enough to take a look at the sun and say something authoritative about how far they would walk that day, glance at a map and order a direction…  Didn’t they know he was pretending? Sometimes he thought everyone must know better than he did, and yet they looked to him anyway.

He sighed, shoved some fruit in his mouth, and stepped over Lopen’s snoring figure.

“It’s early yet,” said Kaladin, sitting by the fire. He squinted at the sun and covered his eyes. “It should be a while before we need to worry about waking those two, and no rush to get started.”

“Don’t forget the time it takes the Herdazian to complain,” said Laral.

“We’ll all be long dead by the time Lopen stops complaining.” Renarin took a piece of dried meat from Kaladin and contemplated it. “Of course, seeing as it’s the end of the world and all, that’s going to be rather sooner than expected.”

The end of the world. Kaladin leaned back. He was supposed to be so much, a hero and a Knight Radiant, and instead… he was _this_.

What could he do, anyway? Kaladin knew nothing, had no great wisdom to guide him. Renarin— Renarin had power that could help in the war, but Kaladin was nothing more than another weapon on the field. Kaladin knew how to win a battle, but not how to fight a war. How could you fight an enemy like Odium? Not with a spear, and that made Kaladin useless.

Instead, his gaze flickered between Renarin and Laral, and his palms were sweaty from wondering if she’d speak. If his lie came out, what then? How could he explain to Laral that it wasn’t about _her_ — though it was— but really, it wasn’t. He didn’t dare even think of Renarin. How, after all he had endured, every terror inflicted, could _this_ leave him so tongue-tied and pale?

Focus, Kaladin. Laral was studying him, her eyes on how far he sat from Renarin. He had to think of something, a way to keep his lie going.

He wasn’t ready. He just wasn’t ready.

If he had been courting Renarin, what would he do now? The answer came too quickly. Kaladin glanced over to slightly pouting lips, a dangerous thought in his mind. Just a moment’s kiss, such a powerful thing.

Kaladin looked away, mumbling a few curses. After halting breaths, he shoved a piece of fruit in his mouth. The water was by Laral. He asked her for some with a gesture and a grunt, and with rolled eyes she obliged.

It would have been easier if he didn’t know how Renarin’s lips felt. It would have been easier if someone else would awake. It would have been easier if he wasn’t an Almighty-forsaken fool whose mouth went dry every time he thought of Renarin.

To Damnation with it, and Damnation with him— Kaladin inched his way over. He steeled himself, turned to Renarin, and immediately thought better of the whole thing.

More food into his mouth, watching the sky and not Renarin’s slender fingers picking his breakfast apart, pretending tearing it into little bits made the texture truly change. (He understood. If only he could have offered better.)

“Er. Kaladin?”

He jumped, hands clenching to fists. It was _only Renarin_. “Yes?”

“You’re blushing.” His brow was furrowed. “Are you all right?”

Kaladin grunted and moved away. “I don’t blush,” he said.

“You’re… blushing right now, though.” Renarin shied back. “I promise.”

“He’s right,” Laral volunteered. She leaned toward the fire, picking up the socks she’d been warming. “You’re redder than a cooked cremling.”

“I do not blush.” He folded his arms. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

“You could be _ill_.” Renarin moved closer.

“That’s overreacting.” He scooted away further, and backed away from the fire. “Perhaps— perhaps the fire’s too hot. That’s all.”

“I’ve never seen you go red from heat before.”

Storming Laral. Pulling her socks and boots on calmly, the picture of elegance.

“You’d point out if I was blushing.”

Kaladin looked up. Renarin did have the beginnings of a flush on his cheeks. “Fine,” he said. “You’re blushing.”

“All right then. We’re both blushing.”

Laral humphed as she stood. She walked away from the fire, stepping over Lopen and Elhokar, and sat down with her back to the fire and the men.

Slowly blinking, Renarin tilted his head. “Why did she do that?”

Kaladin, who knew exactly why she did it, blushed harder. “Woman stuff, probably.”

 

~

 

“It’s disgusting,” Laral muttered.

“What?” said Lopen. “Surely I do not smell that bad?”

“No, you smell fine for a man who hasn’t bathed since the Heirocracy.” She gestured ahead, toward the others. “It’s those _loverboys._ ”

Lopen nodded thoughtfully. “Which loverboys?”

She turned to him, eyebrow raised. “You know which loverboys.”

“Ah, _those_ loverboys.” He nodded again, turning back to look. “That is one word for it, I suppose.”

“Ugh.” Laral rolled her eyes. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Ah, but Brightness, look on the bright side. You are not such an idiot as The Lopen.”

“That is true.” She let out a long sigh, watching Kaladin’s head turn toward his beloved prince, then with a flutter of lashes jerk away.

She wanted to be here. She wanted to be away from Hearthstone, away from Hesina’s insight and from people’s expectations. It wasn’t like she was pained by jealousy. Nothing like that.

They were just unbearably, sickeningly, disgustingly in love. Why did they have to rub it in her face like this?

Oh, Laral was the one rubbing her own face in it. At least stupid, irrational anger, at them and at herself, was something she could feel. When had she forgotten how?

“But, you see, there is a small issue here,” Lopen said. He twisted his face up as he studied the figures of the loverboys ahead. “To ask a stupid question— these loverboys, they are courting, yes?”

“Kaladin told me so himself.” She scoffed. Stupid Laral. Stupid everything.

“Oh, he has?” Lopen sped up his pace and lifted his hands to his mouth. “Gancho!”

“You just peed, Lopen!”

“Who is it you are courting?”

Everybody stopped in their tracks.

Lopen gave an innocent shrug. “Not that it is any of my business, but no one seems to be in agreement on that small detail.”

“Exactly,” Kaladin snapped, “it’s none of your business, so stay out of it.”

He sped up, not worrying about setting a pace the others could follow. Lopen and Laral exchanged a glance, and quickened their pace in turn.

“Well, it’s not me,” Elhokar said. He had stopped, but quickly began to tag behind.

“And it is not me,” called Lopen.

“Certainly not me.” What was he doing? Laral didn’t understand this, and her heart almost raced in fear. Everything felt too real, so real it looped back around to dreams.

“Well, don’t look at me,” squeaked Renarin.

“You said you were courting him!” Laral pointed back toward Renarin, who was slowly dragging along behind.

He looked like a wounded chull, frightened like a child. “You said _what?_ ”

“Shut up!” Kaladin waved his arms and turned back to the group. “There’s a river ahead, but I see a bridge.”

“You said we were…” Renarin stepped forward, eyes darting around.

“I mean, I thought…” Elhokar trailed off.

After a few moments, Renarin finally looked up, to Kaladin. “I thought you were with Laral.”

Laral snorted. “No,” she said, trying to will her heart to be still. “Come on, Kal. So if you’re not courting him, and you’re not courting me, and you’re not courting either of _them—_ ”

“I’m crossing this bridge.” His arms folded, staring at the group with stony blush. “You can come with me or stay back here arguing about who’s courting who.”

He looked to each of them, and of course, on Renarin he lingered. Kaladin turned away and marched toward the river.

“Why did you tell Laral we were courting?” He was hot on Kaladin’s heels, his hands shaking. “Why, Kaladin?”

At the river’s shore, Kaladin stopped. He knelt before the bridge. Knotted rope, made to bend in stormwinds. Water rushed beneath it like the winds of a highstorm.

“Why did you lie?” Laral folded her arms. She and Renarin both avoided looking at each other. Lopen and Elhokar were hanging back. Elhokar was baffled, Lopen almost calm.

“Gancho,” he said quietly, “I think perhaps you should be explaining yourself.”

Kaladin stood. He gestured. “Laral, Renarin, you go first. If you feel anything unsafe, shout for me. Spread your weight out over the widest area you can. Lopen, you go after them. You’re light, but not as surefooted. Elhokar, then you. I’ll take the rear, so I can keep an eye on all of you and Lash you if you stumble. The slightest stumble, and I _will_ Lash you, so expect that. Is that clear?”

“You could answer the question, Kaladin.” Laral stepped forward. “You can’t just going around lying about who you’re courting.”

“I’m not— it isn’t like— _cross the storming bridge, Laral._ ”

“Not until you explain yourself.”

She’d been _lied_ to. It didn’t really mean anything if he chose Prince Renarin over her. That was how life went; it was understandable. But to lie? What was so terrible about her?

Lost in this world as it fell apart, she couldn’t accept more questions, more holes and emptiness. She couldn’t accept a _lie_ , and the questions it gave birth to.

Why hadn’t he told her the truth? What had driven him to use the prince, just to avoid telling her why he wouldn’t give the idea a second chance?

A first chance. They’d never had a chance before.

“It’s not that important.” Kaladin breathed through gritted teeth, hands pressed to his hips. Something about his bearing brought Hesina to mind, even though she could never be such a chaotic storm. “I’m an idiot, is that news?”

“But a liar, Kal?” Laral stepped forward.

“It feels steady.”

She jumped. Renarin was slowly inching his way down the bridge, shifting each foot and gripping tightly to the guardrails. “I think the bridge will hold.”

Head bowed, Renarin took a hesitant step forward. The bridge swayed with his motion, creaking quietly beneath his feet.

“Cross the bridge, Brightness,” said Kaladin. His voice was even, and _there_ was the Hesina in him. “We need to keep moving. Lopen, if she won’t go, you follow Renarin.”

“We _are_ still speaking of this.” Lopen made his way toward the bridge.

“You can speak of it all you like.” Kaladin reached for his pack, searching for his spheres.

Lopen tapped Laral on the shoulder. She shrugged him off, not meeting his eyes.

He wasn’t as hesitant as Renarin as he stepped onto the thick ropes of the bridge, but oddly restrained for Lopen.

Fine then. Laral stepped onto the bridge. It was narrow and shaking. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

Why did this matter so much? He had lied, and she was angry, of course, but why did it all matter to begin with?

She just wanted something simple, something solid. Something that made sense. And none of this did. It all just blurred and changed, fragments she couldn’t piece together into a world or a mind.

Laral took another step, dragging her hands along the rough guide ropes. These bridges were supposed to be smooth from waterproofing, but this one was old and worn. Maybe it would snap and she would drop into the swirling waters below. There was something almost serene about the idea.

She kept walking. The rope pulled tauter as Elhokar joined her. A moment after, Kaladin. Laral shut her eyes as she slowly inched forward. No, that made it too easy to think of that night, to think of how stupid she’d been and how Kaladin had lied to her face.

She didn’t deserve him.

The rope moved with the water, and trembled from their steps. Water constantly sprayed up, getting Laral’s skirts damp. She dared to look, first down to the rushing foam, then onwards. Ahead, the water swelled up white. Maybe this river had been calm once, but the floods of the Everstorm had put a stop to that.

Another step, and another, and another.

She was nearly there. Slowly, Renarin stepped onto the land again, grass receding at his steps. A few moments after, Lopen followed with a bow.

That just left Laral. She took another step, almost arm’s reach from the shore..

And suddenly there was a creak, and the rope slackened. Reflexively her grip tightened, enough to embed the fibers into her palms.

“Kaladin,” said Elhokar, “I think we might need that—”

The rope snapped.

Laral’s lungs burned. She forced her eyes open, but saw nothing. Water rushed past, rushed through her. She kicked out, trying somehow to tread water. The rope was sliding through her hands, burning at her palms, and Laral was choking down water.

She felt the rope move. Suddenly Laral’s head breached the water. Air rushed into her lungs with choking gasps, and river water ran from her nose.

“Hold on,” Lopen said. He was ashore, holding the other end of the bridge with Renarin. “I have got you, Brightness.”

Laral reached out an aching, soaked arm and pulled herself further along the bridge. Lopen and Renarin hauled her up to shore, and she lay there for a moment. Her vision was white, each breath burned. Every muscle in her body ached.

“Cousin!”

Laral turned her head to find Elhokar, spluttering as he bobbed in the water. She crawled over to the men ashore, grabbing the rope with them.

“You can do this,” called out Lopen, “Just keep your head above the water!”

She thought her arms would simply snap, but Elhokar was grabbing on to Renarin’s hands and climbing up ashore.

Laral choked up more water and lay on the river’s banks. There was only Kaladin left, and surely he could handle himself…

But she didn’t hear more choking breaths from the river. She didn’t hear Lopen call out again.

“I think…” said Elhokar, his voice raw.

The river roared. Grass began to peek up around Laral’s outstretched hand as she lay on the banks, occasionally heaving out more water or dripping it from her nose.

Kaladin would join them any moment.

“Renarin!” Lopen snapped. Laral looked up to see him yank a pouch of spheres from Renarin’s hands.

“Give it to me.” Renarin was shaking on his feet, fist clenched like he was going to summon a Shardblade.

“Renarin, I am not going to let you— ”

Renarin struck out. Lopen stumbled back. The pouch of spheres fell to the ground. Kaladin wasn’t there.

Laral laid her head back down and shut her eyes.

She’d lost Kaladin before. This time would be no different.

 

~

 

It was close to nightfall. Kaladin was still gone.

Renarin had wandered off on his own, once he and Lopen were both too exhausted for the struggle. Now he was out of sight from the rest of the group, alone as the light faded.

The river was violent like his mind, loud and swirling with foam. He lay down at its side and reached into his bag for the stones. They were smooth and heavy and perfect, calming to the touch, and Kaladin had trusted him so much when he’d given these to Renarin and now he was gone.

Laral had lain there and said, in her raw whisper, that Kaladin was fine. He would always be fine. Renarin knew better than that. No one was invincible. Even men like Kaladin Stormblessed or Dalinar Kholin were fragile.

Despite that, he couldn’t believe Kaladin was gone either.

He simply didn’t believe anything.

Renarin shut his eyes. He played slowly with the rocks in his hand, taking comfort in them. He had to apologize for Lopen for punching him. He didn’t want to, but it was polite, and it made sense. He needed something to make sense.

They could go along the river, searching for where Kaladin had made it to shore. He should have fought free of Lopen and dived in after him, but he hadn’t. His mind had been too loud, too fuzzy.

They could find him. Battered maybe, half-drowned, but alive, and that would be enough.

It would be enough.

“Do you mind?”

Renarin almost jumped straight out of his skin. Laral’s voice.

He looked up to see her, standing over him. Words were still difficult. He nodded, frantically avoiding her eyes. On animal instinct, he poured his rocks back into the pouch.

She sat near him, knees pulled to her chest, and said nothing. It took a while for his fear to fade, but it did.

The river was still violent and loud, far too loud, reminding them and reminding them and reminding them.

“What have you got?” Laral asked. She was sitting a little too stiffly.

“Rocks.” He pulled one out, just long enough for her to catch a glimpse. He didn’t dare drop one. They were just rocks, but they were the most precious things on Roshar.

“Did…” She moved, leaning in.

“He did.” He sat up, pulling slightly away from Laral, pulling the pouch shut.

“Oh.” She leaned back with a soft exhale. “Of course he did.”

He looked out to the river, watching the restless patterns. “It was an apology,” Renarin said. “It wasn’t like… It was guilt. He was trying to absolve his guilt.”

“Of course.” Laral took another deep breath. “Lopen sounds like your mother, with his worrying.”

“So he sent you to check on me?”

“No. I wanted to be alone too.”

He didn’t ask her why, if she wanted to be alone, she was with him. Perhaps she expected him to know what she meant.

“We should be looking for him,” he said.

“Then let’s look for him.”

“Elhokar should take command now.” It was a reflex of the military.

“Are you willing to follow that man?”

He paused. “Elhokar couldn’t lead a horse away from a chasmfiend.”

“You lead,” she said.

Renarin’s head snapped to the side, trying to gauge Laral’s expression. It was as blank as his, staring off into nothingness. “You have rank over me,” she explained.

“And Elhokar has rank over me.” Lead? He couldn’t lead. “You could lead.”

Laral brushed the ends of her hair from her eyes. “I’m no leader.”

“Neither am I. I’m…” A failure. A coward. An invalid. “A soldier. I _follow_.”

“You were ready to act immediately, when we knew… who had fallen. I was frozen.” He kept trying to search her face for hints of ulterior motives and deception, but he saw nothing. Was that a sign of deception, perhaps? “You’re the best option we have right now. Maybe you’re no leader, but I know you’re better than I could be.”

“Lopen’s not going to listen to me. Neither is my _cousin_. Why should they?”

“Convince them, then.”

“I’m no politician, Brightness.” How could he make her understand?

“You think they’re more likely to listen to me?” She shut her eyes and raised her eyebrows, slowly shaking her head. “One of us has to lead. I refuse to, and you agree with me that Elhokar and Lopen shouldn’t. If you want any chance of saving Kaladin, you have to lead us. Remind those two all they owe him. Appeal to their honor. Kalak’s breath, appeal to their desire to _live_. We need Kaladin. Without him, we’re just four people, terribly lost in a world determined to destroy us all.”

“You speak well,” he said. “You really should lead.”

“It doesn’t matter how well I speak. I’m not a good leader.” She looked to him, eyes downcast. “You’re decisive, Renarin.”

“I believe I’m actually reckless,” he said. He looked away from her and pulled his legs up underneath him. “I stammer, Brightness. I stammer and I— and I talk about _penetrating intercourse_ , and worse, and… and… and I… wash socks…”

“Do you want to save Kaladin or not?”

It was as if his heart had been ripped from his chest. “Of _course_.” Kaladin. Renarin stood, pacing in little circles and wringing his hands of phantom soil. “Brightness,” he said, cheeks flushing hot. “Brightness, I… I _love_ him. I would do anything for him.”

“Then lead.” She reached up and took his hand. “Save him.”

Renarin pulled his hands away. They hung uselessly at his sides.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Laral smiled. She looked away as she stood, smoothing down her skirts.

It was getting dark now.


	25. thought i was strong without you

Kaladin opened his eyes.

“It certainly took you long enough,” said the King’s Wit.

Kaladin opened his mouth to speak, but instead turned over and retched up bloody water.

“Yes,” said Wit, “I rather thought so.”

His stomach had to be empty and dry, but he was still retching. That numbness in his head was concussion. Breathing hurt. He felt spent as ash in the wind.

“Might I interest you in these? They’re rather valuable, you know.”

He held the spheres out with an exaggerated bow. The Light hurt his eyes. Kaladin lunged forward, knocking them to scatter on the ground.

“Now you’ll have to pick them all up.” Wit sat back down, leaning back. “Oh, you can keep them. They’re of no particular use to me."

He took in enough Light to heal him, then cautiously gathered the remaining spheres. He had no pack to keep them in.

Kaladin sat up, hair dripping into his eyes. “What happened?” he asked.

“Why, I fished you out of the river, of course. You know, it was quite careless of you to fall in like that. What were you thinking, Captain Stormblessed?” At Kaladin’s silence, the Wit waved a languid hand. “Thank me whenever you please, I’m in no hurry.”

“Perhaps I don’t please.” He looked around, trying not to be frantic. No sign of the others. The river was narrower here, shallow. How far had it taken him?

“Then you’re a rude young man. I was already aware of that.”

He breathed sharply. Wit wouldn’t give him any answers. He could follow the river, go back up it until he found some hint of a campfire— something he could follow to find the others.

He wouldn’t fear the worst. Not now.

“How is young Prince Renarin, by the way?” asked Wit, breaking into his thoughts. He leaned on one knee, looking a complete fool so far from civilization and chairs. He was still wearing the pristine black uniform of the King’s Wit, enigmatically and infuriatingly.

“Why do you want to know about Renarin?”

“I have something of a fondness for that boy. He’s quite endearing, as you know.”

“And what makes you think I’m fond of him?”

“Well, aren’t you?” He blinked, innocently wide-eyed.

Kaladin let out a low growl. Why couldn’t the man talk sense? “How do you even know I’m with Renarin?”

“When will you learn to stop questioning how I know things? I also know that you’ve lost my flute.”

“As if that’s hard to guess.” Kaladin combed his hair back. “If you know all these things, then shouldn’t you know how Renarin is?”

“I’m not omniscient,” he said, with a little haughtiness. “Also, it was for the most part an excuse for a conversation.”

“I’m not here to have a conversation about Renarin. Goodbye, Wit.”

“Yes,” Wit called as Kaladin stood, “but you need to have a conversation about Renarin.”

“You too now?” Kaladin sighed. He tossed his hair out and raised his arms to the sky. The wind was embracing him.

“I am in love with Renarin Kholin,” he announced, to the wind, to the river, and to Wit. “There. Now you and Syl can be content.”

“Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you to be so forthright with it.” Wit gave a self-amused smirk. “It’s hardly enough to satisfy me, though, since I’m well aware you’re not going to be half so honest with Renarin.”

“Why is this any of your concern?”

“I told you. I’m fond of Renarin.” He seemed almost… genuine. “You are a pair of foolish young men in love. I am a foolish old man, who was once in love. I have seen many young people over the years just like the pair of you, making the same mistakes.” Wit gave an exaggerated sigh, eyeing Kaladin pointedly. “It gets quite dull.”

The world was ending, and everyone in Alethkar was pointlessly invested in who Kaladin courted. Who would inform him of his foolishness next, Gaz? Tarah? _Amaram_? “Did you tell them pointless stories too?”

“Ah!” Wit clapped his hands together. Oh no. “A story. Precisely. It shall illustrate my point perfectly. Your friends can wait, Kaladin. Perhaps if you sit here and listen nicely, I shall help you get back to them all the quicker.”

Kaladin inhaled sharply. Fine. If Wit knew where the others were, and listening was the price, so be it. He sat down and waited, brushing damp hair away from his face and neck.

“There was,” Wit began, “a girl, once. She was… I will simplify this for you. She was darkeyes. A very unfortunate girl, born into the underworld of a city. She grew close to no one, for the world she knew did not allow such things. No one could be trusted. She lived in this way for many years, until one day a man stepped into her life and offered her, for the first time in her life, a true home.

“There was only one caveat to this: This man wished to kill God.”

“God _is_ dead,” Kaladin pointed out.

“Different god,” said Wit. “Not a god at all, actually, or at the very least not the same sort of god. This god was more like a particularly terrible king, and has very little to do with the story I am telling you.” He leaned in closer to Kaladin as he gathered his thoughts. His gaze was firmly toward the horizon. “I will spare you the boring details of why it was a useful thing to do. In order to kill this god, who was not actually a god, the girl had to pose as a lighteyes.

“There was a boy. A lighteyes boy, who lived a life of luxury, but not one that had spared him of cruelty and scars. A boy caught in a struggle with a father trying to forbid him at every turn. His position near the top of society had not kept him from being scarred— or from being kind.

“He met the girl. They fell in love.

“She kept her distance, out of fear, because if her life had always gone one way why _should_ it go another now? Their lives had been so different, his position so high and hers so low, that certainly it would be impossible for them to build a relationship together.

“As much as we would like to, we cannot escape caring for other people, particularly those who are kind to us. The boy insisted on going on being kind.”

“I didn’t think you were capable of being this straightforward,” Kaladin said. “Why are you telling me this?”

“It took a great deal of close calls with death,” Wit said, seeming to ignore him, “for her to finally accept her love. The world was ending, and petty men had taken to war. Death and betrayal lurked around every corner, and certainly this boy could never be hers. She was not meant for such a life, and he was more goodness than this girl could believe in.

“The girl tried to run away. If you left something, it would never break and betray you. Unfortunately, in running away, she found betrayal. In facing the ugliness of her fears, this girl found the strength to return to the boy and ask for his hand in marriage. He accepted— she made him Emperor of their people, so great was her trust.

“The war was won. The ending world? Oh, it ended, and began again stronger, because of them. They needed each other—and I wonder, at times, what would have happened if that woman had never found the strength to admit it.”

Kaladin took a long pause.

“What happened to them?” he asked, voice low and rough.

“The same thing happens to all of us in the end,” said Wit lightly.

“What happened?”

“They died,” Wit said. He stood, straightening out his jacket. “They died young, and tragically. However, they did die together. That, at least, is something.”

Kaladin shook his head, trying to rid himself of the vision. Clutching at Renarin with his final breaths, _knowing_ the world was safe. Even if only another war lay beyond, facing it with Renarin at his side.

Stupid thoughts.

“And now you’re just going to leave?” He reached for the spheres. Wit’s help would be no use anyway. The river would lead him back to the others.

“You are a very observant young man.” Wit turned back and gave a bow. “Due to rescuing you from the river, which I was not obligated to do and would truly have appreciated being thanked for, I may be late to an important appointment with an associate. She is extremely short-tempered. I’m sure you’re sympathetic.”

Something about the story had lodged into his soul, his mind refusing to pull away. _I don’t want to be Empress_. Stupid thoughts, about a stupid story.

He’d never make Renarin an emperor, never condemn him to that fate. Let other men decide the fate of nations and of worlds. He and Renarin— they were guards. They were Bridge Four.

Stupid thoughts, ones he didn’t deserve.

“Oh,” said Wit, “If I were you, I wouldn’t go straight upriver. Then, if I were you, the Cosmere would have far greater troubles to worry about.”

He was gone, then.

Kaladin did his best to pay no heed to anything Wit had said.

~

Elhokar was on fire.

He ripped his shirt off immediately and began beating it against the ground. Lopen, on the other side of the now-blazing campfire, was no help at all.

“We’re back,” Renarin announced uselessly, as Elhokar’s shirt continued to burn. Laral walked past him, silently sitting next to Lopen at the fireside.

Elhokar, after furiously hitting his shirt on the ground and only succeeding in setting the ground on fire, gave up and pelted it into the river.

“I’m in charge,” Renarin said, as Elhokar stamped on the smouldering ground.

“You’re what?” asked Lopen.

All eyes were on Renarin. He put his arms behind his back, gripping one forearm tight. “I’m in charge,” he repeated, softly. “It’s… reasonable.”

“You?” Elhokar asked. He shook his head. “No. You’re too young.”

“I’m twenty, Elhokar.” He gritted his jaw. “Laral insisted it be me. It’s a reasonable choice.”

“Little cousin, sit down.”

“I’m in charge. I don’t have to listen to you.”

Renarin sat down.

“No,” Elhokar repeated, pacing back and forth along the river. “No, Renarin, I’m not accepting this. You’re— ”

“I know what I _am_ , cousin.” He took a deep breath, hands folded in his lap, looking far away to the stars at the horizon. “We only have so many options. One of us needs to step forward and lead. Laral won’t. I wouldn’t follow Lopen. Would you?”

“I wouldn’t even follow me,” Lopen agreed.

“You’re speaking as if I’m not even an option,” said Elhokar. He paused. “I…”

Renarin took a deep breath and stared down at the ground. He didn’t _want_ to be hurtful, not really, but he was too exhausted to dress his words. “Of course, by rank you have every right to lead, but there are other things we must consider. I’d say Alethkar itself is proof that lineage and age aren’t enough of an argument to allow someone to lead.”

“I have _experience_ ,” Elhokar spat, but there was no acid in his words. He stood, uselessly, and then joined the other three sitting around the fire. He sat far from Renarin. “You’re too young, Renarin. Young and…”

“I’m not a coward. You _know_ I’m not a coward, cousin.”

He laughed, mirthlessly. “No. You’ve gone mad lately, Renarin— you used to be the cautious one, and now you’re more reckless than your brother— Damnation, you’re worse than when your father was still the Blackthorn. At least he knew how to defend himself before he charged into any danger that presented itself.”

“I’m not the Blackthorn.” Renarin shut his eyes. Elhokar just had to bring his father into this. “I’m not just _charging into any danger._ I’m doing all I can to protect those I love. Advise me all you like while I’m leading. Criticize me. Just let me lead, Elhokar.”

“Why do we need a leader so badly?” he snapped. “The four of us are like-minded individuals. I’m sure we can manage without a leader.”

“We’re not like-minded,” Laral said. “I’m hungry. Somebody pass me food.”

Renarin reached for the nearest pack and began to dig through it.

“We all came here to do the same thing,” Elhokar insisted.

“No, we didn’t,” said Laral.

“Didn’t we?”

“I didn’t.”

Renarin silently handed Laral some of the dried meat, then passed some to Lopen and to Elhokar. He said nothing, and shut the pack once more. He wasn’t hungry.

Elhokar stared at his strip of dried meat. “Renarin, of all of us, you’re least qualified to _lead_.”

“Excuse me,” said Lopen, “I am sitting right here.”

“I’m not following you,” Laral said. Her voice was quiet. “When it… happened, Renarin was the only one of us willing to _act._ We’re all probably damned, but I say our best chance is Renarin.”

“Renarin was willing to _commit suicide_.” Elhokar gave a loud, aggressive sigh. “Yes! None of us are cut out to be leaders, if you insist!”

_Renarin was willing to commit suicide._

“So why not Renarin?” she asked, voice steady and icy steel.

“Because he’s too young.”

Renarin stood and turned away from the fire, tucking his hands into his elbows. He shut his eyes and felt the breeze on his face.

He didn’t want to lead. Renarin was a follower, born and raised follower. His every ambition had been to be just like his father— to serve and protect his brother. To be that, and to be quiet and shy and anxious, hidden away safely from every battlefield— he _couldn’t_ lead.

He would.

He would, and suddenly he knew that like diving into a freezing ocean. This was a time when he _couldn’t_ follow. Not with Kaladin’s life on the line. He had to do all he could. He didn’t trust Elhokar or Laral or _Lopen_ to save Kaladin.

He didn’t trust himself, either, but that was his only option. So he would.

Renarin turned back around.

“Cousin,” he said, softly, forcing his eyes open. He looked over their heads, but still knew all three were staring at him. “I have to do everything I can for my captain. If that means leaving you, then I _will_.”

“You don’t have to do this, Renarin.” Elhokar didn’t even sound angry.

“I have to trust myself.” He shut his eyes and tucked his hands in tighter. “I have to. None of us are suited for this, you’re right. If that means we each have to split up to do what _we_ think best, so be it. I know what I will do. If anyone wants to follow me, they can, but I will not follow another.”

“What do we do, then?” asked Elhokar.

Renarin took a deep breath. “I’m going to make God tell me.”


	26. and those who hunt thee down will fail

The air was thick with an approaching highstorm.

It had only been a few days since the river, a few days of silent tension as they had pressed downriver searching. Renarin clung to hope with no room for doubt. Laral was more subdued, and Lopen and Elhokar tried to speak foolish sense. None of it mattered. Renarin knew nothing but how to keep believing.

The highstorm was coming, and their shelter was nothing more than waxed fabric and a cairn of boulders with gaps they could fit into. It would be enough. It had to be.

Renarin sat a little further away, closer to the river. He wore no coat, though the days were cold now. His hair hung loosely around his shoulders, thick and clinging in the damp air.

Somebody came into view beside him and sat down. Short, so Laral.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” he said. His head drooped, so his hair would curtain his eyes. He had so much to prepare for already. The last thing he needed was to suffer through a conversation.

“I suppose I shouldn’t.”

She didn’t move, sitting there at his side.

Renarin didn’t argue. She would go back or she wouldn’t. For all Laral insisted he led, she did whatever she pleased. He didn’t mind that, and found himself respecting her for it. He didn’t understand her at all, but she always did what she believed right.

“You really love him, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question.

His silence was long. The wind was beginning to blow in. “So do you.”

“Not the way you do, I think.” She shifted away, breathing the air deeply. “How could I? He’s been gone so long.”

“He loves you.” He turned away, into the breeze. “I can tell.”

“You can,” she said, and he couldn’t judge her tone. She stood, wordlessly, to go.

The bag of rocks was still tied to Renarin’s belt.

“Wait,” he said, as the wind began to blow in earnest. The highstorm was coming, and fast. His fingers fumbled with the knot.

“He gave those to you,” she said, still with the tone he couldn’t read at all. There was some emotion in it, but he didn’t know which.

“They won’t be safe out here. Guard them.” He held the bag out, looking up at Laral. “You know what these mean. Probably better than I do.”

She took the bag slowly, and held it against her chest. “Good luck,” she said.

Then she was gone. Renarin shut his eyes, and waited for the first raindrops to fall.

The storm was nothing more than a chill, little droplets of cold rain catching in his eyelashes. This was the part of it all he hated the most, when the highstorm had begun but he still had to _wait_.

“Come on,” he whispered to the wind, as the droplets got bigger and bigger. They were drenching his shirt now, soaking it straight through, soaking him down to the bone. That was all right. It made him feel alive. “I'm ready for you this time. You don't rule me, not now.”

The wind was strong enough now to force him down, shove him to his side and splay him on the ground. Renarin slowly got to his hands, then his knees, then kneeling, then standing. He was unsteady, knocked around by the storm at all sides.

“Come on,” he bellowed. “Give me what I want, Cultivation.”

The wind shoved. The ground cut into his hands and knees. Renarin held his head up again. “Show me what I need to see!” he yelled. “I'm in control now!  _I'm in control_!”

The first images hit him. The burning, the black skies, the skeletons and bodies and glowing eyes of Voidbringers.

“That's not going to happen,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “I won't allow it.  _Kaladin_  won't allow it. Show me Kaladin. Where is he?”

Kholinar was burning.

“Show me what I need!” His voice was already hoarse, the wind robbing him of it. He was freezing.

A gloved woman adjusted her headscarf. She sat in the back of the smoky bar, blending into the dark air. No other soul graced her table, only her half-full bowl of lavis cut with sawdust, and a few scraps of discarded firemoss. Another piece dropped from the fingers of her freehand, and her arm slowly lowered to the table.

A loud shout, someone hitting the ground. The woman turned quickly, showing her face at last. She scanned the room for danger, then, satisfied, turned back to the wall.

Mevarem Roion hid in plain sight.

“Show me Kaladin,” Renarin said, voice low. “Lead me to him.”

The building had once been an ardentia, the temple and school of Renarin's youth, but no longer.  Amaram stood proud and stoic, that cape hanging behind him. Blood was running along the floor.

Renarin shouted and broke the vision. He couldn’t feel the rain any longer, couldn’t even feel the ground beneath him. “Kaladin,” he repeated, “You’re going to show me Kaladin this time. You’re going to lead me to him. This isn’t a game. This isn’t a _game_!”

He looked out over a hill, a child in his arms, watching a storm approach. The air was so cold their breath clouded before them like Stormlight. Little arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.

“Kaladin,” he breathed, still standing on that hill, yet still in the storm. “Give— me— Kaladin. No more games. No more riddles or fear. Cultivation!”

He forced himself to stand up. Wasn’t he standing already? The hill was fading from his mind, the child with it. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the black flashes of fatespren.

“This doesn’t help me!” He didn’t even feel it as the storm shoved him down once more, but he struggled against it anyway. “ _Please_ , Cultivation. I beg you.”

He fell to his knees, sinking deep into the mud. Renarin raised his head into the howling of the storm.

“But I need this,” he shouted into the wind, “and if you won’t give it to me then I’ll fight. I _will_ fight you, Cultivation! I will.”

An ardent knelt beside a dying child, and wrote. With blank expression, he moved on.

A bloody hand was extended towards him. It held an eye.

Adolin stood, unarmed, against an army of Voidbringers. They had backed him to the edge of a chasm.

“No,” Renarin whispered, his fingers digging into the mud and crem beneath him. “You don’t rule me. How dare you? How dare you destroy me— and give me _nothing_ in return.”

His heart was twisting, deep in his chest. His throat was burning. All of him was burning.

“What use am I?” His voice was helplessly small. “What use am I if I can’t protect him? Things were supposed to be different.”

He pulled himself to his knees, and shouted.

“They were _supposed to be different_!”

He’d burned prayers for so many years. This time, he wasn’t praying.

Renarin breathed heavy, heart too full and voice too empty.

The camp, now. The highstorm was beginning, but Hesina stood by the entrance to the caves. She was haggard and worn, blood running down her lip untouched. One hand gripped a poker with white knuckles, the other hung uselessly swollen at her side.

The shadows weren’t moving right. It was too dark for shadows.

A hundred days.

“This is supposed to be a power.” Renarin’s breath rasped. He was on his hands and knees, facing the ground, but all he saw was Hesina. A hundred days. A hundred. “I can already see nightmares. I see nightmares every day, and these are _no different._ ”

The shadows claimed Hesina. She fell in silence. The shadows moved onward.

A hundred days.

“You don’t control me,” he repeated, voice low and even. “I am not afraid.”

There was a lull in the visions. His sight went bright white, then faded into blurry rain and crem and dark fatespren and his own bleeding hands.

“Show me Kaladin.” He shut his eyes. All he saw was white once more. “Just show me Kaladin. Let me save him. Please let me save him. We need him. You know that, you must.”

He gave up on trying to hold himself up. Renarin went limp, battered down into the sodden ground.

“Is this all I’m meant for? To be afraid and useless?”

He struggled through another breath, and pushed himself up to his knees. He held firm against the wind.

“You chose me, Cultivation. You chose me for a reason. I am more than this. _Let me be._ Let me be of worth.”

Navani was in tears, choking her words out. Her hands were bloodstained. In her arms, Dalinar lay limp, his stare dead and empty. Renarin saw the shadow of the Shardblade as it was raised, and Navani snarl out her last defiance.

“I’ve been seeing that every day since I was born!” Renarin spat. Days— the days— _no_. “What’s the point? What’s the point of being this if it’s only the same as it ever was? If I’m only the same, fearful and useless— I refuse! I will not be afraid, and I will not be useless. Whatever this is you want me to be, I _refuse_!”

This was Jasnah.

Jasnah was dead.

He saw her studying in the night, by sparse sphere light. Her eyes were tired, her clothing in a ragged masculine style. She turned the pages quickly, whispering under her breath, scrawling hasty notes. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, smearing the ink from her pen along her face. She didn’t notice.

Twenty days.

He saw the dawn out Jasnah’s window. The table she sat at was rough wood, the walls of the house shabby but strong.

Twenty-one.

“Jasnah’s dead,” he whispered. “What are you doing to me? Why do you mock me?”

The soldiers wore Sadeas green. Their organized rows contrasted with the surroundings. Once it had been a palatial estate, he knew, but now it was fine rubble. Broken pieces of what had once been finely carved furniture and statues littered the ground. Horses were tired to arms of statues and fragments of wall.

She stood at the center of it all, out of place in her courtly gown. She held her chin high, the jeweled chains of her hair gently ringing in the breeze. This was Ialai Sadeas. Her feet didn't touch the filthy ground, of course. A finely embroidered carpet had been laid out for her.

At her feet knelt Kaladin. He was in chains. She looked down at him, at his sullen and resigned face.

Ialai looked up and snapped for the commander of her troops to attend. “You have heard no word?”

“No, my lady.”

“This has been useless.” She turned back to Kaladin, and gave a disdainful kick to the back of his head. “He is more trouble than he's worth, then. The slave won't be broken. A shame, truly.” She kicked him off the carpet and turned away, turning back to the commander.

“Kill him.”

Twelve days.

Kaladin made it to his feet, but there was no struggle. It was the work of a moment to draw a sword, only a heartbeat longer to deliver the blow to the back of his neck.

Kaladin fell on top of a broken table leg and torn scraps of tapestry. His head hung only from a few scraps of sinew.

Twelve days. Twelve.

Renarin scrawled it on the ground, repeating the glyphs again and again. The image didn’t fade, blood staining Kaladin’s hair and collar, the way the chains draped on the table leg, the shards of his spine left from the shattering blow.

Twelve days.

To the west, south and to the west. He knew exactly where the estate would be found. Twelve days until Kaladin would be executed. It wouldn’t even take a week to reach the camp.

“Thank you,” he breathed, “thank you, thank you.”

His hands moved to draw a map in the ground— this was the river, this was the camp, here was the edge of Sadeas’s princedom, here they were. He knew. He knew all he needed to know.

The rain washed away all his writing, but his hands simply kept on going.

“I’ll save him.” Twelve days, southwest. His hands moved in the line for the river. “He’ll be safe.”

He couldn’t doubt now.


	27. suffered enough, and warred with yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for discussion of suicide

Renarin was unconscious on the ground, lying bloody in a mess of crem he’d scrawled glyphs in.

“Twelve,” Laral read, tilting her head. Lopen and Elhokar dragged Renarin to his feet, trying to wake him.

“Look at him,” Elhokar said softly. He’d blanched paler than his cousin.

“He looks like one left out in a highstorm.” Lopen softened, and moved to gently punch Elhokar on the shoulder. “The Captain was once left out in a highstorm, and no harm came to him! They are Radiants. The storm is within them.”

“I hope you’re right.” Elhokar turned to Laral, supporting Renarin’s limp body in his arms. “He’ll need stormlight, and we should start a fire.”

“The ground is wet,” she said. The packs, and with them the spheres, were still wedged in the rocks. Laral turned to fetch them, trying not to wonder at what the writing meant.

“I _know_ the ground is wet, but there’s got to be… something. Some way to start a fire.”

“Leave the fires to the Herdazian, gancho,” Lopen said, flicking two fingernails against each other so they sparked. “The little cousin will be warm and dry in no time.”

Laral took a few bright spheres in her hand. She didn’t turn back, not quite yet.

Why was she so afraid?

She turned and handed them to Elhokar. “Here.”

That little pouch of rocks was safe in the pocket of her skirt. Laral hung back from the other two, who had a right to Renarin the way she had no right to the stones. She would hand them back later, away from the eyes of others who wouldn’t understand.

“Renarin,” Elhokar said softly, holding out the spheres. Their new Light was gone in an instant.

Renarin stood awkwardly, like a plant emerging after rain.

“We have to get going,” he said, lost and distant. “We’ve got to go.”

“You saw him?” Laral’s heart was beating hard.

“Yes.” He stood, unsure of where his limbs were or what to do with them, hair dripping in his face. “Ialai Sadeas has him. She’s— she’s going to— we have to stop her.”

“Twelve days,” said Laral.

Renarin turned to her. He looked blank and wild all at once, and he nodded.

“No, Renarin,” Elhokar said, gently, putting a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “You need to dry off. You’re _freezing_.”

“I’m fine.” He pulled away. The Light was softly falling from his mouth with every word. The glow around his eyes made him look holy, or ill, or mad. “Elhokar, he’ll _die_. We can save him, we can— We need to go southwest. It’ll only take us a few days to reach where it’s going to happen. Perhaps we could even beat her there. We have to save him.”

“If it’ll only take us a few days, then there is time enough for you to dry off and discuss this.”

“Who’s leader, Elhokar? You or me?” He tossed his hair back, spraying droplets around him. “I say we go now.”

“I’m with your cousin, little cousin,” Lopen called. “A little longer won’t do any harm. There will be a fire soon, and you may be fine but _I_ cannot feel my toes, or my—”

“Lopen!” Renarin turned away and waved his hands wildly. “We can stop later, we’ll have to, but if we wait now we won’t be able to get going until morning, and—”

“It can wait until morning.” Elhokar put his hand on Renarin’s shoulders again. “You’re not thinking straight, cousin.”

“I am thinking straight!” He pulled away, hands still waving around erratically and violently. “We should get going as soon as we can.”

“Why?”

“Because he needs us!” Renarin paced away from the group, hissing and growling under his breath. His hands were flapping so fast they were blurs of motion. “We have to go. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Wasted _what_ time? We cannot make the highstorms come faster, Renarin!” Elhokar snarled and took a few steps away. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

“You need to, little cousin.” Lopen looked up from the beginnings of the fire. “Just get dry and tell us what you saw. There are twelve days, you said, and we should be there long before then. _You_ and _I_ may be able to glow and so not be tired, but Elhokar and Laral are not so fortunate. Allow them some time to rest, to eat.”

Renarin shut his eyes hard. He started half a dozen words, hands grasping out for them, and then sat down where he stood.

“By the fire.” Elhokar knelt by Renarin’s side and offered his hand. “You need to get warm.”

He didn’t look up, the picture of an exhausted child. “No.”

“You need to get _dry_. The Light won’t last you all day, and you know how it is when you get a chill.” Elhokar paused. “Not that you would ever stay in bed when you were sick. You’d insist you were feeling fine, and then you threw up all over Jasnah.”

That got a pale smile from Renarin. He took Elhokar’s hand, and allowed himself to be guided over to the fire. It was growing, still only a small fire but enough for the four of them.

Laral held back a few moments longer, but then she joined her companions. She hadn’t realized how cold she was until she felt the fire’s warmth. Her fingers and toes prickled with fading numbness.

Renarin was silent a while longer. He traced glyphs in the crem with his still bloodless fingers.

No one dared speak.

“It was an estate,” he said eventually, voice rough. “It must have been one of Sadeas’, once. It was destroyed in the Everstorm. She has her camp there. Her and a few dozen soldiers.”

“Ialai,” Elhokar said thoughtfully. “She’s cunning.”

“She has Kaladin,” Renarin said, violently tracing out another number, “in _chains_ , or she will _._ In my vision, in twelve days, nobody has come for him. That makes him of no use to her, so she has— has him— she— _dead_.”

“How far are they?” Laral asked.

Renarin leaned towards her and traced a few lines in the crem. “The border of Sadeas’ princedom, the river. We’re around here. They’re here.”

“Four days,” she said, tilting her head. “Maybe a week. That leaves us seven days to plan.”

“Less than seven days.” Renarin pulled back.

“Your visions have been wrong before,” Elhokar said kindly. “Maybe it’s not so urgent as you think.”

“The Everstorm came when I predicted.” Renarin stared sullenly into the distance. “If we’re going to change what I saw, we need to act.”

“I'll follow you,” Laral said.

The visions didn't sit right with her. How could they possibly trust in these blasphemous visions? Perhaps they were a tool of Desolation. Still, she saw no better option than to stand by Renarin and follow him.

She had four choices: Trust Lopen, who was a fool; trust Elhokar, who was weak; trust Renarin, who was potentially unholy; trust herself— and Laral didn't dare trust herself. She had been given a chance to prove herself and to lead, and instead she had simply stood in the background and allowed Hesina to take charge. It was wisdom, she told herself, to allow the people who truly knew what they were doing to  _do it_.

Perhaps it was a mistake now. The four of them all had chosen to follow Kaladin— none of them were leaders.

Renarin was her choice, and she would stand by him.

“What does she want?” Renarin asked, after a moment. “We have to know what she wants from Kaladin, and then...”

“Nobody came for him, in your vision.” Laral leaned back, trying to detach her swirling emotions from the situation. “She wants him for somebody who would come for him.”

“For us,” said Elhokar. He ran a hand through his hair. “For the Kholins, that is— one in particular, I think...”

“Adolin,” Renarin said softly. “She wants revenge on Adolin.”

“It's not a sure thing, but it makes sense with what we know.” Elhokar leaned back. “She may know things we don't about where Adolin is. I'm sure she knows you were with Captain Stormblessed in Kholinar, or else I'd say perhaps she thought...”

“She's after Adolin.” Renarin shut his eyes. “Wouldn't you be after the man who killed your husband?”

“Wife.”

Nobody knew, really, what had become of the queen. Nobody said it, but they were all sure deep inside that she had been killed.

“She's trying to use Kaladin to get to Adolin,” Renarin said, taking his time with each word. “Only Kaladin... he won't simply submit to her. He's too much... trouble. Not to mention that he's not... he's not even the best option.  _I_  am.”

“You are,” Laral said.

Renarin blinked. “I... of course I am.”

“What do you mean?” Elhokar demanded. He looked at Laral first, then to Renarin. “What are you getting at?”

“She knows me, cousin. She knows I'm quiet, shy... I am everything as a hostage that Kaladin is  _not_. Who better to draw in Adolin than his own brother?” His hands were digging into his legs. “Ialai would let Kaladin go free in exchange for me. She'd be a fool not to.”

“And then you're a prisoner of Ialai Sadeas. How is this any better?”

“She won't execute me.” Renarin stood and waved his hands again. “Kaladin is more useful than me. A better leader, a better warrior— all we would have to do is give him spheres and I'm sure I wouldn't stay Ialai's prisoner for long. You've seen him in battle.”

“No.” Elhokar stood tall. “I won't allow you to risk yourself like this.”

“You won't allow me? Who is in charge here?”

“You're an arrogant fool, Renarin!”

“A very common failing in our family!”

“Oh dear,” Lopen muttered. “Brightness Laral, do you think we should perhaps step in?”

“They'll just go on arguing,” she said. “You know boys.”

His mouth scrunched to the side thoughtfully, and he nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, I do know boys.”

“Do you think you know everything? You think you’re immortal?” Elhokar shouted, throwing his hands out.

“No,” said Renarin, trembling, his arms fluttering.“I think you’re an idiot!”

“Oh, I’m an idiot? You’re barely more than a child drunk on his first taste of power!”

“You’ve let others lead you all your life. Why stop now? You’re the child, Elhokar.”

“Are you so eager to go off to your death?” Elhokar clenched his fists. “I’m trying to protect you!”

Renarin stared at him. “Not this time,” he said, suddenly still, quiet and tense. “Perhaps you should have tried to protect me when I was.”

“What do you mean, ‘when you were’?”

“I hid it well, didn’t I?” Renarin stepped closer. “I did try to charge into battle and _die_ for my chance at glory. Several times. You never saw then how I was suffocating.”

“What do you…” Elhokar backed away. “You tried to _kill yourself_? Why?”

“What did I have, Elhokar?” he snapped. “What did I have? I had fear. Everyone else got to matter, but I was just sitting around waiting until the day I gave up and joined the ardentia, or Father finally sent me off to some city, married off as payment for a new ally. All I could do was worry about _you_.” He turned away. “If I died in battle, then I had at least _done something_ with my life.”

“We never thought less of you.” He stood frozen. “You know we never thought less of you.”

“Am I an idiot? The whole of Alethkar thought less of me.” With clenched fists and clenched jaw, Renarin turned back to his cousin. “I’ve been holding this back for ten years so I wouldn’t _upset anyone_. No platitudes ever changed that I was meant to be a soldier. Well, I’m a soldier now, Elhokar, and you will not take that from me.”

He walked away.

“I’m sorry,” Elhokar called, voice soft. He fell to the ground, absently. “I’m sorry.”

Renarin kept walking.

~

He didn’t dare come back until it was dark. A conversation was the last thing he wanted.

The Stormlight had run out long ago, leaving Renarin damp and cold. He was a damp, cold idiot. Usually the visions left him exhausted, flinching at loud sounds and barely able to string two syllables together. This time it had been mania, unable to truly think about anything— only what he had seen.

Coming back meant he would be forced to face the things he had said. Not until morning, though, and that was enough.

Elhokar was fast asleep. Lopen was snoring. The fire was blazing, and by it lay a shirt and pair of trousers for him. They were achingly warm, and he didn’t hesitate in stripping away his damp clothes to put these on.

Laral swore.

Renarin froze as he pulled the warm trousers over one leg.

“Put your trousers on,” she said, pulling her blanket over her face. “Please. Put your trousers on.”

“I— I’m so— I apologize— I— I…”

“Are your trousers on yet?”

He hastily pulled them up. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

She peeked out from the blanket.

“Shirt too,” he suggested.

“Shirt too,” she agreed, and pulled the blanket over her head again.

He took a breath and tugged it over his head. He hardly needed the warmth, with how his face was burning. “My shirt’s on,” he offered.

Laral pulled the blanket back to her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said, as Renarin laid out his damp clothes to dry. “I should have… realized.”

“I shouldn’t have— well…” His ears were hot. “I’m sorry, Brightness.”

“Laral. Please, just Laral.”

“Laral.” There had been a blanket put aside. He lay down. “You knew I'd come back?”

“You didn't take any spheres with you.”

“Right.”

They said nothing for a little while longer. Renarin shut his eyes and tried not to think.

“Renarin.”

He looked up, and nearly got hit in the face with a bag. He caught it. His rocks.

“They're all in there,” she said. She was sitting up, looking at him. “I thought you might prefer if I returned them when nobody else was there to look.”

“Oh.” He pulled it open and felt the rocks. Their smooth texture and the weight of them grounded him. They made him think of Kaladin, true, but not the Kaladin of his vision. They were Kaladin’s warm and steady strength at his side.

He lay back down, pulled the blanket over himself, and held a handful of rocks. It was enough.

“Renarin?”

“Laral?”

She paused. “It's nothing,” she said, and lay back down.

“All right.”

He would be all right. In this moment, despite all the reasons to panic, he could feel calmness. He'd be able to fall asleep. That wasn't always guaranteed. For the first time that day he was warm, and despite the folly of his words to Elhokar he felt all the lighter for letting them out.

Laral knew him now.

She, and Lopen, both knew Renarin in a way he'd never allowed  _anyone_  to before.  They knew about his anger and his despair. They shouldn't. For years, the only one to know of those things had been Renarin. Not his father, or his brother, not even Kaladin. He barely knew Laral, yet she knew his very soul in ways he'd never admitted before.

That thought took the calm away. He couldn't even put words to how it made him feel, only that it wasn't the way things should be. It was simply wrong, in a way he couldn't ignore, but a way he couldn't fix. Renarin rolled onto his other side, careful not to spill the rocks, and tried to think of anything else.

He thought of telling Kaladin, who deserved to know.

“I know how you feel.” Laral's quiet voice broke Renarin's pain.

Words were necessary, but a struggle. “How do I feel, then?”

“Like you've been in the wrong story.” Her voice was calm. “I know what it is to be left behind. I know losing the way your life was meant to go. Almighty, I know that.”

He ran his fingertips along the rocks. “You weren't supposed to fight.”

“No,” she said, “no, I was supposed to marry Kaladin. But I didn't. He went off to war and there was nothing I could do but worry... that and marry Roshone, of course.”

Roshone? That didn't make any sense. Laral had no husband.

“It wasn't so bad as it might have been,” she said, more to herself than Renarin. “Mostly he ignored me, and I... I'm not so sure I exist anymore. I know I'm here and flesh and blood, but I've been spending so long simply... I don't even know what I do. I don't live, I don't accomplish anything. I affect nothing.”

“Yes,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “That's it.”

“I should have acted when Hearthstone... I should've... but I went on being  _nothing_.” She took a deep breath of the night air. “Hesina was there, at least, and not Roshone. He was killed. Many were— I wish I could have saved them, but not him.”

What could he say? He hummed thoughtfully, so she’d know he heard her.

“They told us Kaladin had been killed,” she said. It was less of a conversation, and more of Laral laying her soul bare.

She’d seen his soul. Now he got to see hers too.

“I had to stay in Kholinar when the war started.” He shut his eyes. “Every time a letter came, I was convinced this would be the one to tell me one of them had died.”

“The letter came.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “Two of them.”

She didn't want him to say he was sorry. He knew that. There was nothing else to say, but silence was better.

“I don't know what I'm supposed to be now. I thought now that Kaladin was back, we could finally get married and be happy. I'm afraid that perhaps now...”

“It's too late. You lost your chance, because now you can never be that person. You're an empty shell.” He rolled a rock around in his hand. “You'll never escape the past.”

“I said I knew how you felt.” She took a deep breath. “We should sleep, shouldn't we?”

“We should.” Renarin drew the bag that held his rocks shut and put it safely into his pack. “Thank you, Laral.”

“No need to thank me. I think I needed to say it.”

He gave another hum and rolled over again to face away from the fire. The truth was calming. It was exhausting, but calming.

“It's not too late,” he said. He hadn't precisely meant to.

“What?”

Renarin sat up, cursing himself. He should let her sleep. “Well, he... he chose you.”

“He chose me?” She had sat up too. “He chose you.”

“He was going to leave with you.”

“He was going to leave with  _you_. I didn't know anything about it until Elhokar demanded Lopen give back his socks.” She blinked. “He— he _did_ tell me he was courting you.”

“I had to force him to let me go, and if I hadn't...” Kaladin wouldn't be in danger.

“Leaving alone. I should have known.” She sighed and lay back down. “That's all I know about him anymore, I think. He leaves.”

“Does he?”

How could it still seem so important, that one little question? A question Kaladin refused to answer, a question that should mean nothing in this chaos. _Was_ he courting Kaladin?

No. No, of course not.

“He came back after the Everstorm, and I hardly recognized him. As soon as I was getting to know him again, he left.” She took a slow breath. “That always was Kal, I suppose. Full of dreams. He was going to study in Kharbranth.”

“Kharbranth.” Renarin had been to Kharbranth as a child. Clinging to his mother’s skirts, biting doctors.

What would Kaladin have studied there? Had he been meant for an ardent, or an artisan?

“He had Bridge Four to come back to.” Renarin took a moment. He tried to avoid thinking of those times, after the world had begun to fall, but before Alethkar crumbled. There was something too holy about those days after the Everstorm. “My family. He swore he would protect us. If the war had begun while he was away, I… I’m sure I would have been killed.”

“I don’t know anything about him anymore.” The words were flat. A fact, and nothing more. “How can I love him when I don’t know him? Certainly I can’t know him the way you do.”

“I wouldn’t say I really know him.”

“He gave you those rocks. That’s… the part of him that should be _mine_ , and he gave it to you too. All of him, yours.”

“He’s not— not— _mine_.” Renarin made a face. “He’s just… like that. He loves. So strongly it could kill him.”

“I don’t remember him like that at all.” Laral rolled away, hiding her face from Renarin. “All I remember is this awkward boy, all ambition.”

Renarin’s words were soft when they came. “He’s not in love with me, Laral.”

Lopen’s snores cut through the heavy night.

“Almighty,” Laral said, “you’re stupid.”

Renarin stared up at the sky, and said nothing. The bright east star caught his eye, framed by the smoke rising from their fire.

A star could never love a stone.


	28. we've been broken to pieces one by one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, due to my being horrifically optimistic in my abilities to keep up posting and editing over Jordancon weekend, I fell behind in my editing. I could have kept up the pace, but unfortunately I've hit the end of Part Two, which needs a drastic restructuring. For the time being, the fic is going on hiatus so I can take a break and tackle other things I want to make before I do that restructure.  
> Also, after Part Two finishes, I'm sorry to say it's going to be a long wait for the third and final part. I have some opportunities to get original work published/performed, and both those deadlines are in August, so I'm going to be prioritizing those for the next few months.

Nobody spoke of anything.

One day passed, then two. Renarin was full of endless something, like Stormlight and emptiness and wine. He tried to command, tried to guide the way. Shouldn’t a prophet be good at these things? Wouldn’t that make him useful?

His mind wouldn’t leave that vision, trapped watching Kaladin die. He knew every spatter of blood, every chip of bone. None of this would help him, none of it meant anything. The Everstorm had been no less painful when he knew its every cloud.

Dinner was silent.

“Go to bed,” Renarin said, waving his hand at the others. “I’ll take first watch.”

First watch was only watch. He didn’t dare wake anyone else, and it didn’t matter. Sleep would never come.

The night taunted him, and Renarin’s head sunk down into his pillow, staring up at the stars. He needed answers— he needed orders.

“Are you awake?” Elhokar whispered.

Lopen mumbled something in Herdazian. “Yes, the Lopen is awake.”

“I’m awake too,” said Laral.

“Renarin?”

He stayed silent.

“Good,” Elhokar said. “Now— it’s not just me, I take it?”

“It would depend what it is this ‘it’ is.”

“Worrying about Renarin.”

Lopen was silent for a moment. “He worries too much. That worries me.”

“After the things he said, I hate to…” Elhokar sighed. “This isn’t about… It’s killing _him_.”

A breath stopped in Renarin’s throat, any movement forbidden.

“He is _not_ meant for a leader.”

“Not yet, anyway.” There was a low groan, and someone moved. “He’s a stubborn, _tough_ , lovesick kid. At least he’s asleep— Damnation, even a Radiant needs _sleep_.”

“And to eat. And to use the privy.”  Lopen yawned. “I love him, but if he does not calm down, my mind will be lost.”

“We’ll lose more than your mind.”

“Like either of you would do better.” Laral’s voice was stark in the night. “I’ve seen you lead, your Majesty. Your agreements with whatever Hesina said were invaluable.”

“Oh, were you paying attention, then? I thought you were too busy staring at Kaladin.”

Another shift. Renarin forced himself to breathe.

They were right. Almighty, they were right— but what else could he do?

“And fighting helps us?” Lopen. Reliable Lopen, wiser than he knew. “Maybe none of are any better. That does not change that our beloved Renarin is very rapidly _losing his mind_.”

“He’s still the best choice.” Laral was frightening, in a way Renarin couldn’t place. Normal people— ones _like Lirin_ — usually frightened him. They stood in judgment. Laral didn’t judge, but she made him obedient anyway. “He’ll lead us to Kaladin.”

“At this rate, we’ll be no good to Kaladin when we do get there!”

“Perhaps none of us are leaders,” Lopen said, “but perhaps as a group with no leaders, we would do well. Four equals who decide together.”

“No,” said Laral.

“Oh? And are you in charge then, Brightness Wistiow?”

“Elhokar, Elhokar. Be calm. You do not wish to wake your cousin.”

Renarin tried desperately to feign sleep, in fear someone would shoot him a glance.

“Answer me, Brightness,” Elhokar said, hushed now.

The silence was angry.

Elhokar let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, what are we going to do to keep Renarin from losing his mind?”

“I already _lost_ my mind, _Elhokar_!”

Furiously, Renarin buried his head under his pillow and tried to still his heart.

It wasn’t even about that. All of this— it was necessary. It wasn’t about losing his mind.

He’d lost Kaladin.

 

~

 

Lopen groaned.

“I’m hungry,” he whined. “Renarin, why do we not stop and eat now. It is past midday.”

Renarin turned on his heel, the muscles of his jaw trembling. “Not yet.”

Would they do this every day? Laral shook her head, trying to clear the blur from her vision It had been too long, and it would be too much longer. They needed to get to Kaladin. Maybe then her mind would return.

“Little cousin, if we wait much longer, it will be time for supper.”

“I said we wait.”

“Renarin— ”

And he snapped. Renarin lashed toward Lopen, shouting like a petulant child.

Elhokar shouted, and as the other two were stepping back, he was between them.

“Renarin!” He glanced quickly at Lopen, then turned back. Lopen cradled his jaw in one hand, Renarin stared at the ground and backed away.

“That’s it,” said Elhokar. “Renarin, _give up._ Your father would be _ashamed_ of you.”

One heavy, shaking breath, and Renarin skidded backwards.

“No, Renarin, don’t— ”

He ran.

Elhokar sighed loudly, glanced at Laral with gritted teeth, then turned to Lopen. “How bad?”

“He needs to trim his nails.” Lopen looked off into the dusty distance. “Well, this has gone well.”

“He’s going to try taking on Ialai Sadeas and her entire army on her own, isn’t he?”

“He’s a Radiant.” Laral’s voice didn’t seem her own. “A Shardbearer.”

“He’s my idiot baby cousin,” Elhokar said. “Maybe he could do it, I don’t know. But I know I want to be there to look after him.”

“Speaking of ‘after him’…” Lopen waved a hand. “You two, please remain here. I believe I will hunt down our little idiot.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Elhokar stepped forward, brow furrowed.

He shrugged. “Well, I did not just tell him that he was a disappointment to his potentially dead father.”

Elhokar stepped back, and watched Lopen trudge his way off the road.

Dust made a cloud and silence fell behind him.

“So, Brightness,” Elhokar said, sitting down. “I suppose then, it is time for us to have our lunch… Do you know how to play cards?

 

~

 

“Little cousin.”

Renarin jumped at the words. His hands clenched, every muscle in him trembling. He couldn’t remember how to speak, or to move, and so Lopen sat down beside him.

“Hey,” he said. “I love you.”

Sharply inhaling cold air, Renarin pulled tighter into himself. Emotions. Emotions were too much.

“Hey,” Lopen repeated, his voice soft. “It is all right, Renarin.”

He shook his head, moving further and further back. Nothing was all right, everything was wrong. Lies were bad. He didn’t like lies.

“See, look? My face is beautiful as ever.” Lopen turned his head, tapping a finger to his jaw where Renarin had struck. “This is where you call me ugly, no?”

He glanced up, then pulled his hands to his chest.

“I know,” said Lopen. “I know. Everything is terrible and frightening, but it _is_ all right. Both can be true at one time, you see.” He turned toward Renarin, legs folded up under him. “You know, you have done nothing wrong truly.”

Yes, he had. He’d done everything wrong. Renarin forced out a rough snort, trying to bury his head in his chest.

“No, you have not.” Lopen spoke so gently. “Truly, how _can_ we eat knowing where our captain is? How can we do anything but push forward to him?”

For a moment, Lopen fell silent.

“I am trying to delay things, Renarin. I am too afraid of what will happen to face it. Whatever is going to become of us and the captain…”

He reached his hands out.

“I am to be no part of it. I will change nothing. What is going to happen will happen with or _without_ me. The only meaning I can possibly have is to be a burden. Our captain is out there, imprisoned, in pain… and there is _nothing_ I can do to help him.”

He was staring at the ground, hands uselessly falling before him. Renarin reached out a shaking hand, laying it on Lopen’s shoulder. A weak, but Lopenlike smile answered.

“I have never been of use in my life. Somehow, it is easier to know that I am _worse_ than useless. At least then?” He shrugged. “I have meaning. Bridge Four made me something more, but now…”

“Us,” said Renarin. He tugged on Lopen’s arm. “Us.”

That made the crooked grin spread. “Us,” he agreed, leaning into Renarin with a sigh.

For a moment, they just sat.

“Sorry,” Renarin forced out, pulling away. “I— sorry. Sorry.”

“You have no more to be sorry for than the rest of us,” Lopen said firmly. “Now, why do the two of us not go back and eat our dinners, and if Elhokar tries to speak to you I will hit him on his enormous nose.”

That got a bark of laughter out of Renarin. He pulled half his mouth into a smile, copying Lopen’s crooked grin.

“Love you,” he said, tilting his head.

Lopen paused for a moment, before he pressed a kiss to the top of Renarin’s head. “And I love you, my brave cousin. Now, come on before they eat dinner without us.”

Renarin smiled as he stood.

 

~

 

Laral, again, woke in the armpit of dawn.

For a moment she lay in the dirt, as if she could ignore the day into submission. Sleep was elusive, and it wouldn’t return. Every morning she woke too soon, every night her sleep was fitful.

She sat up, pushing the blanket from her shoulders. Mindlessly she began to fold it back up, smoothing the tangled blanket into straight lines.

Rekindle the forgotten fire. Start her breakfast, pack her blanket away. Start on the day’s march, trying to let her mind drift away from the foolishness and arguments.

It was a horrible way to exist, halfway between fear and apathy. Though she couldn’t detach, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not enough to break through whatever had her trapped, not enough to truly live in her own body once more.

Renarin Kholin was asleep on Lopen’s chest.

Laral stared for a moment, her hands cold. Lopen snored, Renarin’s splayed arms and legs twitched slightly.

With an unsteady breath, Laral turned around. It would have been easier, she thought, if they hadn’t looked so damn peaceful like that.

She wanted some of that peace for herself.


	29. to swap our places

Ialai’s army had already reached the estate.

They stood atop distant hills. Ialai’s camp seemed so small from this distance, as if you could scoop it all up into your hands. Each soldier was barely more than a green fleck. Thirty or forty of them, and a dozen or so horses.

“How could _they_ have captured the Captain?” asked Lopen. “Does Ialai have a Radiant of her own?”

“She might.” Renarin smoothed down his coat, the worn Kholin uniform he’d used for a bedroll. “I don’t know.”

“Do you still intend to offer yourself?” asked Elhokar. He didn’t look to his cousin.

“She wants Adolin. The best way to get Adolin would be through me.” He shrugged. “And she doesn’t know I’m a Shardbearer.”

“So am I.”

Renarin turned his head. Nodding slowly, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Keep watch, cousin. If things go wrong, we have— we have _three Shardbearers._ No weapon Ialai has could answer that.”

“Not with the three of us.” He nodded in turn, then turned his eyes to study the distance. “Three of the best Shardbearers.”

“And us.” Lopen gestured to himself and Laral. “We are also here.”

Laral rolled her eyes.

“Elhokar, stay at the ready. You…” Renarin paused, then reached out to clap Lopen on the shoulder. “You be Lopen.”

He passed his pack to Laral, hoping she could read the reason in his downcast eyes. She hardly acknowledged him, but she took it.

“Take some spheres,” she said.

“She’ll have him searched.” Elhokar paused. “Try your boot, maybe.”

Renarin nodded, taking a handful of chips from Lopen and pouring them into his boots. He took a deep breath, looking to the horizon. “Is this it, then?”

Lopen put his arm around Renarin’s shoulders. “Hesitating now, my little cousin?”

“Of course not.” He turned to Elhokar. Stupid, annoying Elhokar, who now held Renarin’s life in his hands.

Well, he wasn’t Adolin, but he’d do.

Renarin started walking, his heart pounding in his ears. Glys murmured assurances against the tide of anxiety, and Renarin did his best to stay steeled for a fight.

“If I go any closer, they’ll spot me.” Elhokar gestured to a pile of rubble that had gathered. He crouched behind it, summoning Sunraiser to hand already. “You’re sure you want to do this, cousin?”

He looked up at the hill. Ialai’s soldiers marched defense of the pavilion, pristine green silk surrounded by crumbling walls.

Kaladin was in there.

“I’m always sure,” he said, and then he started running toward the hill.

It was a very short eternity until someone shouted at him. Bows were drawn, arrows aimed directly at his chest.

Renarin raised his hands slowly. “I am Renarin Kholin,” he said, “come to parlay with Lady Sadeas.”

“Stay where you are,” called one soldier. He was the captain of the guard, the man who'd killed Kaladin in his vision. It was all Renarin could do to stay put and not lunge forwards and strangle the man with his bare hands.

The arrows were still pointed at him. Renarin felt quite as taut as a bowstring.

The captain of the guard stepped into the pavilion, and Renarin craned his head, trying to get just a glimpse—

A moment later, Ialai Sadeas stepped out. She didn't wear the same gown as his vision, but cut just as fine a figure against this apocalypse. She had stepped out of the court, as if there was no war, as if the world was not ending.

“Prince Renarin,” she said. He didn't speak. He stared at the ground, hands buried in the cuffs of his jacket. It stung to make such a mockery of himself, but she needed to see him as weak. “What are you here for?”

He raised his head. “I will stay with you,” he said, whispering prayers in his heart, “if you will release the captain of my guard.” Spoken like a prince. It seemed almost like a lie to call him only c _aptain of the guard._

“Why would I want that?” She laughed. “Renarin, you haven't got the power here.”

“I'll stay with you if you let him go,” you repeated. Come on, Ialai. Keeping Kaladin wasn't in her best interests. He was too much work to hold, not valuable enough. The only reason she'd have to keep him was her pride.

Her pride.

They were doomed.

Ialai looked him over and raised her freehand to her chin. “You're all alone?”

“I can't find my family.” He'd be easy to manipulate. Perhaps if she took him prisoner, even without releasing Kaladin, the spheres— the spheres could stay hidden—

“ _You’re not that stupid_.” Ialai tossed her head. “Have the grounds searched, find whoever’s hiding out there. If he can find the bridgeman, he’s got a plan.”

Renarin’s pulse was a battlefield, striking out at him. Rawness retched its way up his throat. The ground dug into his knees, white pain dug into his vision. Acid choked him to splatter on the ground, twisting and devouring his guts. He knelt, ready for the death blow.

Kaladin needed more from him than this, but he only knelt on the ground, throwing up.

“You’ve seen through me, Highlady Sadeas.”

Laral. Laral?

Renarin looked up to skirts swishing past him. Laral stood, chin high, before Ialai’s soldiers.

“Who are you?”

Laral ignored the spears pointed at her. “Someone interested in what you have. I believe this one will suit your needs, will he not?”

“I don’t recognize you.”

Renarin stayed kneeling, stayed trembling. Play the abject figure, the coward.

“Some of us prefer it that way.”

Renarin’s heartbeat filled the silence.

“So, Highlady,” said Laral, “do we have a trade? Perhaps this could be the start of a beneficial relationship between us. In these times, a woman seeks to ally with her peers.”

Why couldn’t she just speak? A sword was less pointed than silence.

“Let him come forward. Captain, bring out the prisoner.”

Laral helped Renarin to his feet, offering a wan smile. He set his jaw, and steadily made his way through Ialai’s staring guard.

Kaladin was dragged out of the tent, fighting all the way.

Dirty and unshaven, sullen anger in his jaw. Kaladin’s hands were bound from wrists to fingertip, so he couldn’t grip a Blade. Renarin stared at him, his heart burning. How could they bear this? How could they look at Kaladin and not see… not see something to guard.

He looked up at Renarin, and his chapped lips formed soft syllables. Kaladin trembled in his chains, not even looking to Ialai Sadeas.

“You.” She pointed to one of the guards closest to Renarin. “Search him.”

Renarin froze, willing his mind to leave his body, to endure being touched _now_.

Kaladin’s jaw set. He nodded to Renarin, a smile ghosting across his stubbled face.

And that was it. The universe fell into place, and suddenly Renarin was without fear. If Kaladin had faith in him, trusted his fate to him, if Kaladin was comforted by _him_ , then everything was suddenly simple.

“Boots,” the guard ordered.

Breath caught in his throat. Renarin had no choice but to let the guard pull off his boot—pouring the spheres into his hand. With a snort, he tossed it aside and motioned that Renarin offer up the other.

“Well,” said Laral, “had to be sure you were as clever as they say, didn’t I?”

Ialai stepped forward, tilting her head as she looked down her nose to Laral. “And how do I know this one is genuinely your prisoner? How do I know you’re not both conspiring to trick me?”

“Because I knew enough to _find_ you and your prisoner. And because if this _were_ a trick, it would be a bad one.” She sighed loudly. “I’m tired. Kill us or do the trade, just get on with it.”

Ialai narrowed her eyes, then turned, the jewels in her hair chiming. “I will get to the bottom of this. Have this one walk toward the woman, and bring me the Kholin boy.”

Renarin stood barefoot in the middle, and so when the guard motioned for him to follow, he tripped over his boot.

One sphere. One precious sphere had fallen to the ground, forgotten and ignored. Renarin caught that little flamechip in his hand as he scrambled to his feet, hiding it as he clasped his hands together in an anxious motion.

Kaladin walked toward him, his chains rustling with each step. Renarin clutched that little sphere tight, and nodded as they passed each other.

He kept his eyes down, finally stepping into the fold of Ialai’s soldiers, being led to kneel before her.

Renarin knelt.

“Fire,” she said.

Hands grabbed at Renarin, but before the arrows flew Glys was in his hand. The Blade cut a wild arc through soldiers. He shoved the little flamechip to his lips and gulped it down.

Bodies hit the ground. Arrows hit their mark.

He turned and started running. The sight of Renarin cut a hole through the soldiers, as he raced down the hill.

Another volley. Renarin’s stocking feet thundered alongside them. It beat him to Kaladin’s side. One arrow pierced his lower ribs, one his shoulder.

Someone called, “The king!”

Renarin knelt down before Kaladin, his eyes darting to watch blood soak into his filthy shirt.

“Renarin,” he said, voice raw and labored. “What the fuck.”

He answered by pressing his forehead tight against Kaladin’s, trying to release all the Stormlight he held.

Kaladin’s glowing eyes met his for a second.

“Come on,” Renarin said, standing and summoning Glys again. He turned to catch a glimpse of Elhokar, fighting like a true Alethi king. “Let’s just get out of here.”

He raised Glys in a salute and signal to Elhokar, and cut an arrow from the sky.

Laral steadied Kaladin as he stood. The volleys had caught her by the edges, only scratched her face and ripped her sleeve.

“Life before death,” she whispered. “Strength before weakness.”

Three Radiants chorused. “Journey before destination.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyyyy I'm back.  
> So, there are two chapters left of Part Two after this! I'm a little busy (I'm working as a stagehand this month) so the posting schedule will probably be a little wacky, and then Part Three... ok, so full disclosure, I scrapped 90% of my original plan for Part Three because I just didn't like it anymore, so that's going to take me a while. I promise, I will not make you wait until I finish the whole thing for new chapters.  
> Anyway, on the original fiction opportunities I took the hiatus for: I failed at one because it needed preliminary research that I just couldn't find, sadly, but the other is submitted to an anthology and I should be hearing back by late October!


	30. you're waiting for someone to put you together, you're waiting for someone to push you away

“So,” said Lopen, gesturing around the group, “ _you_ are a Knight Radiant, and _you_ ate a sphere.”

“I’m a Knight Radiant,” Laral said, looking down as she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt.

“I didn’t _eat_ a sphere, I…” Renarin sighed, his pulse still racing. “I ate a sphere.”

“I’m taking a nap,” announced Kaladin, lying on the ground and shutting his eyes.

Renarin hastily stripped off his coat and bundled it up, placing it beneath Kaladin’s head. Tucking away his blushing face, he gently stroked the ends of Kaladin’s curls. He knelt down and whispered just, “I’ll keep watch.”

As he pulled back, moving toward where Laral and Elhokar and Lopen sat, Kaladin shifted to bury his head in the coat.

“So,” said Lopen, wagging a finger. “What of your spren?”

“Storms if I know.”

Syl’s laughter echoed out, and a windspren twirled herself around Laral’s shoulders before turning into Syl the girl, kicking her bare legs out into the air. “She’s so shy!”

Laral blinked a few times. “You… knew?”

“She was scared you weren’t ready.” Syl shrugged. “ _I_ think she spent too much time talking to Glys, personally.”

“Hey!” said Renarin, almost a reflex. Was Glys neurotic and secretive? Yes. And that was fine, by Renarin at least.

Laral pulled her legs under herself, blinking in thought. “Huh.”

“Well?” asked Lopen. “Will you not tell us, then?”

Syl opened her mouth to speak.

“She’s a Windrunner,” said Glys, not moving from his hiding spot.

“I wanted to tell them!” Syl pouted.

Renarin choked laughter into his hands.

“Windrunner!” Lopen, with a wild grin, clapped Laral on the shoulder. “We will teach you the ways! You may even stick me to walls when I am annoying.”

“You’re _always_ annoying,” she grumbled, with an eye roll and faint smile.

“That’s why he spends so much time stuck to walls.”

He probably had some kind of responsibility to Laral, as an elder Radiant. He probably… was supposed to… something. Exist like a normal human. Renarin’s gaze betrayed him, constantly straying to Kaladin’s broad shoulders.

Almighty, it hurt. Ripping chains from Kaladin’s wrists and legs, watching as the sores healed. Old wounds had been torn anew. This was Kaladin’s own personal Damnation, just as the palace was to Renarin.

Renarin would have borne Damnation, if Kaladin could be spared. No one offered that to him, no sacrifice he could make. Kaladin had to bear the pain.

But not alone.

“Hey, Renarin.”

He jumped at Syl’s gentle voice, and forced a smile. Once it had to fade (smiling too long was creepy), he didn’t know what to do with his face.

Syl sat in the air by his side, legs crossed under her, head tilted and letting her hair flow in sprenish wind. “I just wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me for…” Stupid question. He trailed off. “I mean…”

“It’s been… bad.” Syl tossed her head. “She has this cremling thing that eats Stormlight— I couldn’t go near it, I was scared it would eat _me._ ”

Syl fell silent. Renarin hated Ialai Sadeas still _more_ — hated every inch of her. He hated her for this. He hated her for the way she used to talk to him, used to _touch_ him. That woman should have died in their escape, Renarin should have been her execution, but getting Kaladin away had been more important.

“The idea you could be out there kept him going,” Syl said. Her voice had changed, almost like a parent taking you aside. “I kept telling him you were alive. That you weren’t so easily stopped. Kal isn’t good at being hopeful, but I guess you rubbed off on him.”

“I’m not… hopeful.” He looked off to the side, where Lopen was trying to coach Laral into flight. “I just don’t have a choice.”

“Faith,” said Glys.

“Yeah,” Syl agreed. “And now Kal has faith in you. Pretty impressive, Renarin Kholin.”

Renarin rolled his eyes, and took a deep breath. He was watching Kaladin for nightmares, unsure if he was brave enough to soothe them with others watching.

“You should sleep too.” Glys’s sparkling lights crept up Renarin’s sleeve.

“I’m keeping watch.”

Thoughtlessly, he rocked from side to side gently, eyes steady on Kaladin.

“You know,” Syl’s cheerful voice broke in, “you might just be the best thing that happened to him since me.”

He was struck still, and turned to look at her. A deep swallow filled his throat, and his gaze darted to the bare ground. “Fitting, I suppose. He might be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Keeping watch kept him in his skin. Renarin kept watch.

 

~

 

A ribbon of light darted through the night sky. Laral watched the windspren, blanket draped over her shoulder.

“Hello,” she called out.

The windspren spiraled towards her, changing shape as it— she— moved.

This spren was a younger girl than Syl, with straight hair and big eyes. She reached long, delicate hands out towards Laral’s skirt.

“I’m sorry,” said the spren, voice soft as the wind.

“I don’t blame you.” Laral took a deep breath of cool night air. “What— what’s your name?”

“Xyla.” She smiled, moving to sit on Laral’s knee. “I’m Xyla.”

“And I’m… Laral.”

She laughed.

“You know that.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally be introduced.” Xyla’s smile made her nose wrinkle. “I’ve been afraid you’d never be ready.”

“I don’t know that I am now.” Laral bit her lip, trying to catch herself before she looked to where Kaladin slept still. “But I suppose I have to try.”

“That’s all you can ask,” Xyla said.

Laral stopped. “I suppose it is.”

There was the sound of a loud yawn. “Oh.”

Xyla vanished into the air.

“Good job, Prince Renarin,” Laral said, sighing and pulling her blanket tighter. “You frightened off my spren.”

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed at his eyes, hair wild from sleep.

Laral shut her eyes. Damnation, this day just kept on happening. She envied how Renarin had managed to fall asleep.

“How… long has it been night?” He blinked up at the moons.

“A few hours. You missed dinner.”

“Oh.”

He ran his hands through his highstorm of hair, then glanced toward Kaladin.

Jealousy rose in her chest— no. Not jealousy. An emptiness where she felt jealousy belonged.

She didn’t want Kaladin, did she? She wanted something to love the way Renarin _loved_ Kaladin.

“You’re lucky,” she said.

“What?”

She tilted her head toward Kaladin. “You won.”

“Well.” Renarin blinked several times, a blush rising on his face. “You convinced me I could.”

Laral hummed, turning toward her makeshift pillow.

“I’m sorry I scared your spren. I know how— I mean, have you even seen Glys?”

Ah, babbling.

“I think it’s something like parenthood. Having spren, I mean. Although they’d see it the other way around.”

She snorted. “Are you trying to teach me how to be a Radiant?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t know how, and I don’t think I could teach you if I did. Figuring it out yourself is… part of it, I think. Unfortunately.”

“Awful,” she said.

Figuring it out yourself. Not just listening to others, however much wiser and better they might be.

_Journey before destination._

Laral tried to take a deep breath, steadying herself as the world spun.

“So, you’re telling me you’re useless?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

Laral snorted and lay down, burying one side of her face into her pack. She knew she wouldn’t sleep, no matter what.

Another loud groan of a yawn.

“Captain,” Renarin said.

“Renarin.”

Footsteps, probably some obnoxious hug or something.

“Good morning, Kaladin,” Laral said.

“Laral.”

Almighty, his voice was… _weak._ What had that woman done to him?

She took a deep breath, and said the only thing she could think to. “You know how you never did answer which of us you were courting?”

Sharp inhalations. Laral didn’t wait for either of the boys to answer.

“Well,” she said, trying to make her voice light, “I’m breaking up with you.”

Kaladin wasn’t hers. Kaladin had never been hers. A friend, a good friend, once and maybe again. But not hers, not something that could fill the void that consumed her.

“That’s a relief,” Kaladin said. His voice was still strained.

Laral rolled over, turning toward Kaladin. Renarin was sitting at his side, their fingers brushing against each other.

“Does it stop hurting?” she asked slowly.

“Eventually,” Renarin said. He looked to the ground, and clutched at Kaladin’s hand in earnest. “It hurts less, at least, and that’s…”

“Hard,” said Kaladin. He sighed, brushing back his hair with his free hand. “It’s hard. Sometimes it feels harder than the pain ever was.”

Laral slowly nodded, watching as the boys gripped tightly to each other’s hands.

“Easier when you’re not alone, I suppose.”

She rolled back away, before either could answer, and shut her eyes.

Xyla, she thought. She did have Xyla. Maybe she would be enough.

If not, then Laral herself would just have to be enough. That was what Hesina wanted for her, wasn’t it?

Easier, thought Laral, to be Renarin Kholin.


	31. with a word, with a kiss

"So,” asked Lopen as they sat around the morning embers, “what is it we are doing now?”

“We keep going,” Renarin and Kaladin said in unison. Renarin pulled back, spluttering broken apologies.

“Well.” Kaladin shrugged. “I’m with Renarin.”

“I was— it was Laral’s idea— I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “It’s your decision, Captain.”

“And conveniently, the three of us seem to be in agreement.” Lopen grinned.

“I’m sticking with you until I figure out this Windrunner thing.”

“And I _do_ want to find the rest of our family,” Elhokar concluded.

Kaladin nodded, leaning in closer to the fire, trying to feel the warmth. None of them seemed to care that he— he’d _failed_ them. Nothing Kaladin felt was real, it was all just the Wretch whispering in his ear.

He was supposed to feel strong, feel hopeful, like the rest did. He was supposed to feel like they’d won. Ialai Sadeas still stood over him, still taunted him. How could he be the leader they turned to? They were better without him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Renarin was curled in on himself, his jaw trembling. Kaladin reached out. Slender fingers gripped his hand. Spearman’s calluses had made Renarin’s hands rough, rough and strong, and he still held on delicately.

Kaladin stood, gently tugging Renarin up at his side. “Come on,” he said, his voice still low and ragged. “Let’s get going, then.”

 

~

Laral sat cross-legged on the ground, skirts spread about her, tossing a pebble into the air.

“You can do it.” Xyla didn’t flit around the way Kaladin’s windspren did. She floated on the breeze in long, languid motions.

“I guess I can, I just…” She sighed, tossing the pebble again. This time, it hovered— unsteadily, shooting up, lazily easing down. “It’s so… feminine.” Laral tilted her head,  Lashing the pebble a little to one side. “It’s like… it’s like _budgets_.”

“What’s a budget?”

Laral turned, and the pebble fell to the ground. “It’s… Math. Numbers. You have what you start with, and you have what you want, and you have to calculate what goes in between.” She nodded to the pebble. “Like this. It’s strategic. Calculated. Feminine.”

“Is Kaladin feminine, then? I’ve heard so much about him from Syl.” Xyla let out a sigh. “So much.”

She had to think about that for a moment. “A little, I guess. Strange.” Laral furrowed her brow, tossing another pebble and willing it to freeze in midair. “I’m only as feminine as I have to be, I suppose. Almighty, if I’d been born a man.”

“Human gender is _weird_.” Xyla walked over to the pebble, then gestured for Laral to raise it. “Spren just… know.”

“Know what?”

“The right gender. I’ve never wished myself male, or malen, or even femalen.”

She Lashed the pebble higher and higher.

“Of course,” Xyla said, tilting her head, “I can only remember a few weeks. Before then, I was just… a lazy breeze.”

“Does the breeze have gender?”

“Some do.” She crossed one leg up under her. “Do you wish you were male, Laral?”

That took enough thought that she forgot the pebble. “I… don’t know. Given the choice I’d rather have been a boy, but… I don’t know about the future.”

Wife and mother sounded wrong. Doing ledgers and managing estates— or warcamps— it was work she could do, but…

Working with her hands was better. Not war, she didn’t think herself a soldier, but honest work. Making things. Not the invisible work of a noblewoman— no, if she cared to be a woman, it was a woman like Hesina.

“It’s being me I don’t want, I suppose.” Laral shrugged. “I never had a place where I fit, and now I have no place at all.”

“Don’t you?” Xyla furrowed her brow, head tilting to the other side. “Isn’t this your place, Laral?”

She laughed. “What place do I have here?”

There was a loud cough. Laral turned— Lopen stood behind her, holding some food.

“I have come to bring you your lunch, Brightness.” He sat beside her, holding it out. She took the lunch without speaking. Xyla was gone again, of course.

“I can make rocks float,” she said.

“Perhaps soon you will make a Lopen float!”

She took a bite of ambiguous ration, looking off to the horizon.

“You know,” he said hesitantly, “Brightness— I do not wish to presume, for once, but if you allow it… I would gladly call you cousin.”

She chewed slowly. “Why?”

“Because I like your company.” He shrugged. “If you are in need of a family, the Lopen offers this.”

A family. Laral took another bite. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to worry me.” Lopen sighed. “This is usually the Captain’s place, and not mine. The Lopen makes jokes to brighten spirits, and the Captain speaks words to strengthen souls. I have little to offer you— bad advice and worse jokes. But those are yours if you wish them, Laral.”

She finally turned to him. “But… why? Why me?”

“You are enjoyable company!” His smile faded. “And the Lopen knows something of what it is like to be good for nothing at all. He has found no answers, but… he has found it is better to be without answers together.”

She looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “So I’m good for nothing, am I?”

“Ah,” he said, “you are certainly good for insulting me!”

“That’s nothing. An infant could insult you.” She offered up a piece of her lunch, which he declined. “Of course, they’re of your own kind.”

“And you, Brightness, are of a kind with a chull.”

She tried to Lash a rock to his head, but miscalculated. After a weak lurch, it landed in his lap.

Lopen laughed and threw it at her.

 

~

 

Though Kaladin let his hand go when the packing up started, Renarin’s mind didn’t waver.

Lopen cracked a few jokes, Laral toyed around with Stormlight. When she tripped Lopen with a Lashing, a windspren appeared to laugh at her side. Lunch went by, and the rest of the day, and Renarin’s hand stayed clenched tight at his side.

And they didn’t say anything about who would keep watch that night, because there was nothing to say. Kaladin sat at the edge of the group, purple and blue moonlight making his dark hair glow. Close to the fire, bundled in his army coat, Renarin watched him.

That stupid question kept taunting him. If he _was_ courting Kaladin, then he had a place and a right. If they were courting, then Kaladin was his to protect.

If they weren’t, that was the place of... another. If they weren’t, what even were they? Nothing? But he wouldn’t ask. Not out of shyness, not even out of respect. Renarin wouldn’t ask, because he didn’t think Kaladin really knew either.

He watched Kaladin’s hunched shoulders in the moonlight, and his breath caught. Kaladin ran his hands through his hair, breathing a little too fast and shallow, tugged on his collar and undid a few buttons.

“I love you.”

Renarin’s words shattered the night. His heart stopped beating, becoming nothing but an aching cavern.

And as Kaladin turned his head, he _laughed_. A choking snort, mouth twisting to show one dimple. “Yeah,” he said, “I know, Renarin. I’ve known all along.”

The chasm in his chest pounded. “Wha— what?”

Kaladin moved closer, slowly exhaling. “You keep watch,” he said.

He was going to faint, his body couldn’t keep up with how his pulse raced, but Kaladin’s hand brushed against his and suddenly Renarin was steady.

“Your love is _loud._ It burns around you, and it keeps me from losing myself in the night.” He stared down at the ground, pulling inwards onto himself. When he spoke again, Kaladin’s voice was ragged. “Every time before, there was nothing but death in my mind. When I was… I thought of you, and I thought… Renarin’s safe. Renarin’s alive. And… Renarin’s coming.”

“I came.”

“You _came_.” He turned back to Renarin, slowly taking an offered hand. “No one ever came for me before.”

“They should have.” Rage poured to Renarin’s throat, not burning acid but sweet wine. “You should never have been alone.”

“Did anyone ever come for you, Renarin?”

Words stumbled. Kaladin squeezed his hand tighter as Renarin spoke only bungled syllables.

And then, he knew.

“You are,” he said. “Right now.”

Kaladin was struck silent, running his thumb over the back of Renarin’s hand.

“I haven’t been… I haven’t… Whenever I thought of you, gloriously alive and on your way to save me, I thought— _he doesn’t know I love him_. I’m not good at showing it, Renarin, not the way you are. I’ve screwed up with you so many times, and I don’t think I ever… I _love you_ , and I don’t mean that I love you because you’re Bridge Four. I love you because you’re Renarin. So many years, everyone has looked to me to be the hero, to save them. And they… I love them, but… Renarin, they’re not _you_. At first, I thought… I was an idiot. It’s simple, really.”

He looked up, swallowing back tears.

“I’m your hero… but you’re _mine_.”

And that was it, that was enough. Courtship didn’t matter. There was a _name_ for who they were together, a better and stronger name than lover, or fiancé, or husband.

They were the ones who saved each other.

Suddenly he was all over Kaladin, buried in his arms, hands clutching at his unwashed curls. Renarin was laughing, trying to hold on tight enough to erase the memories of chains.

“My hero,” he whispered.

Kaladin nuzzled against his cheek. “ _My_ hero.”

It wasn’t all right, not yet, and it wouldn’t be for a long time. But the way they clung to each other was a promise, a lifeline to clutch, knowing that if your strength gave out someone would still hold back the darkness.

Courtship paled compared to lying down by the fire, Kaladin’s head on his heart. Renarin slowly stroked his hair with one hand, the other nestled to the small of Kaladin’s back.

“I love you,” Kaladin repeated. “and I wish I could have said that before…”

He trailed off, and Renarin didn’t answer.

“You deserve so much more than you were given, Ren.” His forehead nestled against Renarin’s jaw.

“So do you.”

“Stop being self-sacrificing. Tonight, it’s _my_ turn to love you.”

His voice was a low purr. Renarin’s heart was racing, despite Kaladin’s slow and lazy hands tracing along his ribs.

This love might be better than any courtship, but Renarin found himself again aching to simply call this a romance. What else could answer his endless lust for everything, these innocent but un-Alethi touches, gentle and deep kisses, endless nights of lovemaking?

“Renarin.”

Kaladin pulled himself up, resting on Renarin’s chest. He had to be close enough to feel Renarin blush.

“Do you remember how, before all this, back at the camp… we made an agreement that we’d never…”

“ _I’d_ never…”

Kaladin bit his lip. “If what never happened were to happen now… would you speak of it after tonight?”

His pulse raced, reaching up to put his arms to Kaladin’s broad, scarred back again. Blood rang in his ears. “Please.”

He leaned in with hesitant, jolting movements, and suddenly Kaladin’s lips were rough and chapped, trembling as they pressed to Renarin’s mouth.

“Oh,” Renarin breathed, pressing his forehead against Kaladin, feeling his brands. “It _is_ better when you’re not bleeding.”

Kaladin laughed soft and low, and Renarin kissed him this time.

It was like breathing for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's part two!!! I'll be rewriting part three over the next few months-- no timetable, I've learned not to give those, but I am shooting to get the majority of the work done before January.


End file.
